UC-NRLF 


A  BERKELEY  Year 


A    Berkeley    By-WaY  Bj  Oscar  Maurer 


A  Berkeley  Year!' 


A  SHEAF 
OF  NATURE  ESSAYS 


Edited  by  Eva  V.  Carlin 


Published  by  the 

Women's  Auxiuary  of  the  First  Unitarian  Church 

OF  Berkeley.  California 


190  9 


A  Berkeley 
Year 


WIA  I  21 


Decorated  by 
Louise  M.  Keeler 


d 


0. 


FROM  GENESIS  TO  REVELATION 


For  the  land  is  a  land  of  hills  and  valleys;  and 
the  mountains  shall  bring  peace  to  the  people. 

A  bird  of  the  air  shall  carry  the  voice,  and 
that  which  hath  wings  shall  tell  the  matter. 

Consider  the  lilies  of  the  field,  how  they  grow; 
they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin:  and  yet  Solomon 
in  all  his  glory  was  not  arrayed  like  one  of  these. 

Wisdom  hath  builded  here  her  house;  she  hath 
hewn  out  her  seven  pillars.  She  is  a  tree  of  life 
to  them  that  lay  hold  upon  her:  and  happy  is  the 
man  that  retaineth  her. 

It  is  a  good  thing  to  call  to  remembrance  the 
former  times,  to  remember  all  the  way  the  Lord, 
their  God  hath  led  the  people;  when  they  were  but 
a  few  men  in  number;  yea,  very  few,  and  strangers 
in  the  land. 

We  have  also  a  sure  word  of  prophecy.  Ye 
shall  run  and  not  be  weary;  ye  shall  go  out  with 
joy,  and  be  led  forth  with  peace;  for  the  eyes  of 
the  Lord  are  always  upon  the  land,  from  the  be- 
ginning of  the  year  even  unto  the  end  of  the  year. 


CONTENTS 


From  Genesis  to  Revelation         .....         V 

The  Making  of  the  Berkeley  Hills     ....  i 

Joseph  Le  Conte 

They  Looked  Through  the  Golden  Gate        .  .  II 

William  Carey  Jones 

Lang  Syne         .  .  ......         25 

Edavard  B.  Payne 

Joy  of  the  Morning        ......  37 

Edivin  Markham 

A  Glimpse  of  the  Birds  of  Berkeley      ....      41 
Charles  A.  Keeler 

Walks  About  Berkeley 55 

Cornelius  Beach  Bradley 

The  Trees  of  Berkeley 65 

Ednvard  L.  Greene 

On  Berkeley  Hills 73 

Adeline  Knapp 

The  Love    of  Life 77 

IVillis  L.  Jepson 

A  Berkeley  Bird  and  Wild-Flower  Calendar       .         .         85 
Compiled  by  E'va  V.  Carlin  and  Hannah  P.  Stearns 


The  Making  of 
The  Berkeley  Hills 


MONG  the  many  phases  of 
out-door  Berkeley,  I  am  asked 
to  give  a  brief  account  of  that 
one  which  interests  me  most. 
Some,  doubtless,  would  talk 
of  the  beautiful  flowers  which 
mantle  the  hills  like  an  ex- 
quisitely varied  carpet;  some 
of  birds,  their  habits,  their 
color,  their  song;  some  would 
talk  of  the  early  history  of 
Berkeley  and  would  give 
reminiscences  of  the  Golden 
Age  of  youthful  Berkeley. 
But  underlying  all  these,  and 
forming  the  condition  of 
their  existence  —  without 
which  there  never  would  have 
been  any  Berkeley — are  the 
Hills  with  their  rounded  and 
infinitely  varied  forms,  their 
noble  outlook  over  fertile 
plain  and  glistening  Bay  shut 
in  beyond  by  glorious  moun- 
tain ranges  through  which  the 
Golden  Gate  opens  out  on 
the  boundless  Pacific.  It  was 
this  that  decided  the  choice  of 


The 
Making 

of  the 
Berkeley 

Hills 


The       the  site  of  the  University,  and  determined  the  exis- 

Making    tence  of  Berkeley. 
of  the  I  have  thus  given  in  few  words  the  prominent  geo- 

Berkeley  graphical  features  of  Berkeley,  But  how  came  they 
Hills  to  be  what  they  are?  How  were  they  made  and 
when?  These,  our  beloved  Berkeley  Hills,  were 
born  of  the  Pacific  Ocean  about  the  end  of  the 
Miocene  or  mid-tertiary  times.  They  took  on  a 
vigorous  second  growth  about  the  end  of  the  Plio- 
cene epoch.  Now,  I  well  know  that  these  terms 
convey  little  meaning  to  most  people.  Such  persons 
will  immediately  ask,  "How  long  ago  was  this? 
How  many  years?"  I  frankly  confess  I  do  not 
know,  but  I  am  sure  it  is  at  least  a  million  years 
and  perhaps  much  more.  The  geologist,  you  know, 
has  unlimited  credit  in  the  Bank  of  Time,  and 
he  is  not  sparing  of  his  drafts,  as  no  one  is  likely 
to  dishonor  them. 

As  soon  as  these  Hills  raised  their  heads  above 
the  ocean,  the  sculpturing  agencies  of  sun  and  air, 
of  rain  and  rivers  commenced  their  work  of  model- 
ing them  into  forms  of  beauty.  Slowly  but  steadily, 
unhasting  yet  unresting,  the  sculpturing  has  gone 
on  from  that  time  till  now.  The  final  results  are 
the  exquisitely  modeled  forms,  so  familiar,  and  yet 
so  charming. 

These  Hills,  therefore,  like  all  mountains,  were 
formed  by  upheaval,  or  by  igneous  forces  at  the  time 
mentioned ;  but  all  the  details  of  their  scenery — 
every  peak  or  rounded  knob,  every  deep  canon  or 


gentle  swale,  is  the  result  of  subsequent  sculpturing        The 
by  water.   If  the  greater  masses  were  determined  by    Making 
interior  forces,  all  the  lesser  outlines — all  that  con-      of  the 
stitutes  scenery — were  due  to  exterior  forces.     If  the     Berkeley 
one  kind  of  force  rough-hewed,  the  other  shaped  in-       Hills 
to  forms  of  beauty. 

In  those  golden  Miocene  days,  with  their  abun- 
dant rain,  their  warm  climate  and  luxuriant  forest- 
vegetation,  life  was  even  more  abundant  than  now. 
The  sea  swarmed  with  animals  of  many  kinds,  but 
nearly  all  different  from  those  we  now  find.  The  re- 
mains of  these  are  still  found  abundantly  in  the  rocks, 
and  a  rich  harvest  rewards  the  geological  rambler 
over  the  hills,  w^ith  hammer  in  hand.  The  land,  too, 
was  overrun  by  beasts  of  many  kinds  characteristic 
of  the  times.  Some  of  these  extinct  animals,  both 
of  sea  and  land,  I  think,  we  must  sorely  regret;  for 
example:  little,  three-toed  horses,  much  smaller  than 
the  smallest  Shetland  pony,  roamed  in  herds  over 
our  new-born  hills.  We  have  not,  indeed,  yet  found 
them  in  Berkeley  rocks,  but  abundantly  in  rocks  of 
the  same  age  not  very  far  away.  They  probably 
visited  our  hills.  We  cannot  but  regret  that  these 
pretty  little  horses  were  too  early  for  our  boys,  and 
indeed  for  any  boys,  for  man  had  not  yet  entered 
to  take  possession  of  his  heritage.  Again:  Oysters, 
such  as  would  astonish  a  latter-day  Californian,  ex- 
isted in  such  numbers  that  they  formed  great  oyster- 
banks.  Their  agglomerated  shells,  each  shell  five  to 
six  inches  long,  and  three  to  four  inches  wide,  form 


The       masses  three   feet  thick,   and  extending  for  miles. 

Making    These  are  found  in  the  Berkeley  Hills;  but  else- 
ofthe      where  in  California,  Miocene  and  Pliocene  oysters 

Berkeley  are  found,  thirteen  inches  long,  eight  inches  wide, 
Hills  and  six  inches  thick.  Alas  for  the  degeneracy  of 
their  descendants,  the  modern  California  oyster. 
And  yet,  upon  second  thought,  there  may  be  noth- 
ing to  regret.  It  may  well  be  that  in  the  gradual 
decrease  in  size  the  flavor  has  been  correspondingly 
intensified.  It  may  be  that  what  was  then  diffused 
through  a  great  mass  of  flesh  and  therefore  greatly 
diluted,  was  all  conserved  and  concentrated  into  the 
exquisite  piquancy  characteristic  of  the  little  Cali- 
fornia oyster  of  the  present  day.  If  so,  we  are  con- 
soled. 

But  the  character  of  the  Berkeley  Hills  was  not 
yet  fully  formed.  Still  later  there  came  hard  times 
for  Berkeley.  But  hard  times  are  often  necessary 
for  the  perfecting  of  character,  and  therefore  we  do 
not  regret  the  next  age.  There  was  for  Berkeley, 
as  for  other  places,  an  Ice-age.  An  Arctic  rigor 
of  climate  succeeded  the  genial  warmth  of  Tertiary 
times.  Our  hills  were  completely  mantled  with  an 
ice-sheet  moving  seaward,  ploughing,  raking  and 
harrowing  their  surfaces;  smoothing,  rounding  and 
beautifying  their  outlines.  The  materials  thus 
gathered  were  mixed  and  kneaded  and  spread  over 
the  plains,  enriching  the  soil,  and  preparing  it  for 
the  occupancy  of  man — not  yet  come. 


Last  of  all — last  stage  of  this  eventful  history —        The 
came  man.    When  did  he  come?    Was  there  a  Plio-    Making 
cene  man,  and  was  his  skull  really  found  in  Cala-      of  the 
veras?     If  any  one  is  interested  in  this  famous  con-     Berkeley 
troversy,  let  him  consult  Professor  Whitney  on  the       Hills 
one  side,  and  Bret  Harte  on  the  other. 

But,  certainly,  evidences  of  Prehistoric  man  are 
abundant  all  over  California,  and  nowhere  more  so 
than  in  and  about  Berkeley.  Those  interested  in 
this  subject  will  find  abundant  material. 

I  have  thus  given  in  bare  outline,  the  birth, 
growth,  and  character-making  of  the  Berkeley  Hills 
and  Plains,  in  preparation  for  the  occupancy  of 
civilized  man.  The  work  of  the  Geologist  is  done. 
The  Historian  must  take  it  up  at  this  point.  I 
have  laid  the  ground-work;  others  must  build  there- 
on. 

Joseph  Le  Conte. 


/ 


They  Looked  Through 
The  Golden  Gate 


EFORE  the  appearance  of  the       They 
white    man    had    shown    that      Lookea 
nature  here  was  to  be  turned    Through 


to  exalted  human  purposes, 
the  aboriginal  inhabitants  had 
dwelt  for  generations  along 
the  shores  that  front  the 
Golden  Gate.  At  the  era- 
barcaderos  of  the  creeks, 
Temescal,  Codornices,  San 
Pablo,  they  had  left  memen- 
toes of  their  life  in  the  larger 
and  smaller  "mounds"  that 
tell  by  their  contents  of  the 
form  and  style  of  the  man 
himself,  of  his  arms  and  uten- 
sils and  of  his  foods.  These 
beings  looked,  indeed,  through 
the  Golden  Gate,  but  not 
with  a  keen  and  perfected 
vision  that  responds  to  high 
intellectual  and  spiritual  emo- 
tions. They  lived  the  little 
life  of  incipient  humanity, 
their  hates  and  loves  and  a 
vague  surmise  of  a  Great 
Spirit  alone  testifying  to  the 
potentialities   of   their   kind. 


the 

Golden 

Gate 


13 


They  But  one  day — March  27,  1772,  for  'tis  interesting 

Looked  to  fix  the  dates  of  the  scanty  anniversaries  of  our  ro- 
Through  mantic  past — representing  the  spiritual  purposes  and 
the  the  temporal  arms  of  Spain,  the  fore-leaders  of  the 
Golden  gente  de  razon,  Padre  Juan  Crespi  and  Lieutenant 
Gate  Pedro  Fages,  later  Governor  of  California,  with 
their  dozen  companions,  passed  along  the  Contra 
Costa  shore,  and  looked  through  the  Golden  Gate. 
They  had  started  from  Monterey  on  March  20;  on 
the  25th  they  had  encamped  on  Alameda  Creek, 
near  the  site  of  the  later  Vallejo  Mill,  the  ruin 
whereof  yet  standeth,  now  the  town  of  Niles.  They 
had  crossed  the  San  Leandro  and  San  Lorenzo 
creeks  and  reached  the  beautiful  encinal, — the  oak- 
clothed  peninsula  of  Alameda.  They  had  passed 
round  "an  estuary,  which  skirting  the  grove,  extends 
four  or  five  leagues  inland  until  it  heads  in  the 
sierra,"  and  had  come  out  upon  the  verdant,  bloom- 
ing plain.  But  the  eye  of  even  these  gente  de  razon 
was  not  illumined.  They  knew,  indeed,  as  they 
stood  upon  the  site  of  Berkeley,  that  they  were  op- 
posite the  "mouth  by  which  the  great  estuaries  com- 
municate with  the  Ensenada  de  los  Farallones." 
But  they  still  sought  to  find  the  illusory  harbor  of 
St.  Francis  beneath  the  promontory  of  Point  Reyes, 
and  searching  for  that  which  was  valueless,  recog- 
nized not  the  surpassing  worth  of  what  lay  at  their 
feet.  They  looked  through  the  Golden  Gate  in 
vain. 

14 


But  the  Franciscans  were  not  to  be  daunted  in 
their  purpose  of  finding  their  patron  saint's  legend- 
ary harbor.  And  so  now  they  seek  it  again,  this 
time  by  sea,  and  Juan  de  Ayala,  lieutenant  in  the 
royal  navy  of  Spain,  on  August  i,  1775,  in  the  ship 
San  Carlos,  sailed  through  the  never-before-trav- 
ersed waters  of  the  Golden  Gate  into  the  awaiting 
haven.  The  San  Francisco  they  sought  was  illusive ; 
this  port  is  now  thought  good  enough  to  be  dedi- 
cated to  the  great  Saint  Francis. 

Thereafter,  on  June  11,  1797,  came  the  founding 
of  the  Mission  of  San  Jose,  "cradle  of  Alameda 
County,"  under  the  scholarly  Father  Lasuen.  This 
prosperous  establishment  was  from  1803  to  1833 
under  the  charge  of  the  famous  Father  Duran. 
Passing  up  and  down  in  gradually  growing  num- 
bers the  Spanish  Californians  looked  through  the 
Golden  Gate.  The  princely  San  Antonio  rancho, 
fifteen  leagues  in  extent,  was,  in  1820,  conferred 
by  Governor  Pablo  Vincente  de  Sola  on  Don  Luis 
Peralta.  In  1843,  Don  Luis,  in  company  with  his 
four  sons,  rode  across  the  wide  domain,  and  with 
e5'e  and  gesture  surveyed  and  partitioned  it  into  four 
shares.  The  most  southerly,  the  country  neighbor- 
ing San  Leandro,  was  assigned  to  Ygnacio;  the 
next,  proceeding  north,  including  Alameda  and 
Brooklyn,  to  Antonio  Maria;  the  third,  covering  the 
Encinal  de  Temescal,  or  Oakland,  to  Vincente,  and 
the  northernmost,  including  the  modern  Berkeley, 
to  Jose  Domingo.       Peraltas,    Castros,    Pachecos, 


They 
Looked 
Through 

the 
Golden 

Gate 


15 


They       worthy  families  in  the  romantic  background  of  our 
Looked     history,   settled   along   the  shore   and   looked   daily 
Through    through  the  Golden  Gate.    The  Castro  home,  at  the 
the        margin  of  Cerrito  Creek,  on  the  San  Pablo  high- 
Golden     way,  screened  by  the  Alta  Punta,  still  yields  testi- 
Gate       mony  to  the  first  habitations  of  the  gente  de  razon. 
Perhaps   a  broadening  vision   was   given   to   the 
mind  that  daily  fed  upon  the  scene  around  them. 
They  had  anyhow  established  a  settlement  and  a 
place  of  growing  allurement  to  American  adventure 
and  ambition.     The  American  came;  his  spirit  of 
enterprise  was  stimulated  and  his  soul  was  uplifted. 
Senator  Benton  had  said,  his  mental  vision  discern- 
ing from  across  the  continent  the  true  significance  of 
this  portal  of  the  sea^  "There  is  the  East;  there  lies 
the  road  to  India."     And  Fremont,  mounting  the 
eastern  slopes  of  the  hills,  as  his  horse  brought  him 
to  the  summit  of  the  range,  eyes  filled  with  the 
refulgent  beauty  of  the  scene,  senses  astir  with  emo- 
tion,  and   mind   prescient   of   potentialities,   looked 
through,  as  well  as  named,  that  "road  of  passage 
and  union  between  two  hemispheres."     As  record 
thereof  he  wrote  on  his  map  of  1848  opposite  this 
entrance,  "Chrysopylae,  or  Golden  Gate,"  "for  the 
,  same  reason  that  the  harbor  of  Byzantium,  after- 

wards Constantinople,  was  called    Chrysoceras,    or 
Golden  Horn." 

The  eighteen-fifties  brought  American  settlers, 
Shattuck,  Blake,  Hillegass,  Simmons,  Leonard,  and 
others,  who  built  their  homes  and  prepared  the  land 

16 


for  the  coming  army  of  peaceful  occupants.     The       They 
American  tiller  of  the  soil  looked  through  the  Gold-      Looked 
en  Gate,  and  his  own  and  his  children's  minds  were     Through 
made   larger   and    happier    by    the    aspirations   and         the 
ideals  thereby  generated.  Golden 

Subtle  influences  were  silently  at  work  for  the  Gate 
ennoblement  of  the  spot  that  faced  the  Golden  Gate. 
Like  others,  Samuel  H.  Willey  and  Henry  Durant 
had  "traveled  towards  wine  and  gold  and  sunshine, 
but  their  hearts  were  set  on  something  higher."  At 
first  independently,  later  in  conjunction,  they  "had 
set  out  to  seek  a  place  where  learning  might  find 
a  peaceful  home  on  our  Pacific  shore."  In  this 
search  during  the  year  1856,  after  wanderings  afar, 
"Durant  now  came,"  the  brilliant  John  B.  Felton 
tells  us  in  words  that  should  be  shared  by  Willey 
equally  with  Durant,  "to  the  spot,  where,  rising 
calmly  from  the  sunlit  bay,  the  soft  green  slope 
ascended,  gently  at  first,  and  then  more  abruptly, 
till  it  became  a  rugged  storm-worn  mountain  and 
then  disappeared  in  the  sky.  As  he  gazed  upon  the 
glowing  landscape  he  knew  he  had  found  it.  He 
had  found  what  he  sought  through  life.  Not  alone 
the  glory  of  the  material  landscape  drew  from  him 
the  cry,  'Eureka,  I  have  found  it!'  Before,  him, 
on  that  beautiful  spring  morning,  other  scenes,  in- 
visible save  to  him,  passed  before  his  mental  vision. 
On  the  hill  that  looks  out  through  the  Golden 
Gate  he  saw  the  stately  edifice  opening  wide  its 
gates  to  all,  the  rich  and  the  poor,  the  woman  and 

17 


They 

Looked 

Through 

the 

Golden 

Gate 


the  man ;  the  spacious  library  loomed  up  before  him, 
with  its  well-filled  shelves,  bringing  together  in 
ennobling  communion  the  souls  of  the  great  and 
good  of  past  ages  with  the  souls  of  the  young, 
fresh  starters  in  the  onward  march  of  progress.  In 
its  peaceful  walls  those  who  had  made  a  new  goal 
for  progress  were  urging  on  their  descendants  to 
begin  where  their  career  had  ended,  and  to  recognize 
no  good  as  final  save  that  which  ends  in  perfect  and 
entire  knowledge.  And  before  him  in  long  proces- 
sion the  shadowy  forms  defiled  of  those  to  come. 
Standing  on  the  heights  of  Berkeley  he  bade  the 
distant  generations  'Hail!'  and  saw  them  rising, 
'demanding  life  impatient  for  the  skies'  from  what 
were  then  fresh,  unbounded  wildernesses  on  the 
shore  of  the  great  tranquil  sea. 

"He  welcomed  them  to  the  treasures  of  science 
and  the  delight  of  learning,  to  the  immeasurable 
good  of  rational  existence,  the  immortal  hopes  of 
Christianity,  the  light  of  everlasting  truth. 

"And  so,  hero  and  sage,  the  memory  of  whose 
friendship  raises  me  in  my  own  esteem,  I  love  to 
think  of  thee.  I  love  to  think  of  thee  thus  standing 
on  the  heights  of  Berkeley,  with  the  strong  emotion 
lighting  thy  features  and  they  cry  'Eureka!'  on  thy 
lips,  as  thy  gaze  goes  through  the  Golden  Gate  to 
the  broad  Pacific  Ocean  beyond." 

On  March  i,  1858,  this  tract  of  land  was  formal- 
ly selected  as  the  permanent  abode  of  the  College 
of  California.     On  April   16,  i860,  the  Trustees 

18 


drove  from  Oakland  to  the  "College  Grounds,"  and 
met  on  a  "great  rock,  or  outcropping  ledge,  situated 
about  midway  between  two  ravines."  There  were 
present  Rev.  W.  C.  Anderson,  President  of  the 
Board;  Rev.  S.  H.  Willey,  Secretary;  Rev.  D.  B. 
Cheney,  Rev.  E.  S.  Lacy,  Rev.  Henry  Durant, 
Frederick  Billings,  E.  B.  Goddard,  Edward  Mc- 
Lean, and  Ira  P.  Rankin.  After  the  adoption  of 
appropriate  resolutions,  "the  President,  standing  up- 
on the  rock,  surrounded  by  the  members  of  the 
Board,  with  heads  uncovered,  offered  prayer  to 
God  for  his  blessing  on  what  we  had  done,  implor- 
ing his  favor  upon  the  college  which  we  proposed 
to  build  there,  asking  that  it  might  be  accepted  of 
Him,  and  ever  remain  a  seat  of  Christian  learning, 
and  a  blessing  to  the  youth  of  this  State  and  a  centre 
of  usefulness  in  this  part  of  the  world." 

Frederick  Billings,  as  one  of  this  dedicatory  com- 
pany, had  looked  through  the  Golden  Gate.  His 
was  the  appointed  mission  to  name  the  intellectual 
seat  that  faced  Fremont's  Chrysopylae.  The  Bishop 
of  Cloyne,  the  imperishable  philosopher,  who  had 
seen  in  his  mental  vision  a  spot  "so  placed  geographi- 
cally as  to  be  fitted  to  spread  religion  and  learning 
over  the  western  regions  of  the  world,"  gave  the 
inspiration  to  Billings'  meditations.  "Berkeley"  was 
the  name  that  sprang  to  his  mind;  and  "Berkeley" 
was  the  name  wherewith,  on  May  24,  1866,  the 
genial  home  of  culture  was  christened. 


They 

Looked 

Through 

the 
Golden 

Gate 


19 


They  By  and  by  others'  steps  are    led    to    Berkeley, 

Looked     agents  of  the  State,  and  those  who,  not  agents,  were 
Through    none  the  less  lovers  of  California — Haight,  Low, 
the        Dwinelle,  Stebbins.    Founders  of  the  private  college 
Golden     had    believed    that   the   mind   of   youth    would    be 
Gate       enlarged  when  the  imagination  might  soar  afar  upon 
the  boundless  ocean.     The  planters  of  the  State's 
University  accepted  the  wisdom  of  those  who  had 
chosen  Berkeley  as  a  home  of  education,  and  wel- 
coming  the   gracious   gift  of   these   generous   acres 
and  the  nobler  sacrifice  of  the  aims  of  the  College 
oi  California,  established  here  the  State's  intellec- 
tual centre.    And  here  generations  of  the  flower  of 
California's  manhood  and  womanhood  are  privileged 
to  gaze  through  the  Golden  Gate  of  an  ever-broad- 
ening outlook. 

Again  a  mind  of  large  imagination  and  a  heart 
of  infinite  sympathy  were  destined  to  look  through 
the  Golden  Gate.  Phoebe  Apperson  Hearst  ex- 
pressed the  wish,  opening  the  opportunity  for  its 
realization,  that  plans  should  be  secured  for  aca- 
demic halls  which  should  harmonize  with  the  beauty 
of  the  site  and  should  redound  to  the  glory  of  the 
State.  A  home  of  refined  and  splendid  architec- 
ture— such  the  dream,  now  in  course  of  fulfill- 
ment— for  a  University  of  worthy  achievement  and 
yet  richer,  nobler  possibilities. 

Wm.  Carey  Jones. 


Lang  Syne 


IRTHS  and  Beginnings !— the 
world    will    never    weary    of 
tracing  them,  that  it  may  say, 
"Behold  here  is  the  seed,  the 
plantation,    from    which    this 
vital  growth  sprang."     Espe- 
cially so  if  myth  and  legend 
have  gathered  about  the  gen- 
esis of  a  man  or  a  community, 
so  that  origins  are  obscured  in 
the  tinted  mists  of  a  far  hori- 
zon.     Ages   hence   some   his- 
torian will  curiously  unwrap 
the     dreamfolds     in     which 
Berkeley's  earliest  records  will 
then  be  involved,  and  the  local 
traditions     will     have     anti- 
quarian   corners    assigned    to 
them  in  the  libraries  of  Town 
and  University.     That  this  is 
not  yet,  Berkeley  cannot  rea- 
sonably be  reproached.   It  got 
itself    into    human     time    as 
early  as  it  could,  and  we  must 
wait  patiently  until  the  dust 
has  gathered  on  the  vestiges 
of  its  origin  and  made  them 
relics  of  antiquity. 
Time,  however,  has  wrought 


Lang 

Syne 


27 


Lang  for  us  here  already  an  ample  perspective  for  the 
Syne  pictures  of  Reminiscence.  Inasmuch  as  we  can  but 
glance  hastily  at  a  few  of  these,  we  will  not  look 
back  too  far;  let  it  be,  say,  to  the  first  five  years  of 
the  quarter  century  that  ends  with  this  year  of 
Ninety-eight.  Those  who  dwelt  here  then  should  be 
pardoned  if  they  venture  to  speak  of  that  period  as 
"the  good  old  times."  It  was  the  bucolic  age  of 
Berkeley,  which  was  then,  for  the  most  part,  about 
as  God  and  Nature  and  the  ploughings  of  a  few 
ranchmen  had  made  it.  To  be  sure.  Education,  in 
its  prime  right,  had  secured  and  set  apart  for  Uni- 
versity grounds  some  two  hundred  of  the  most 
beautiful  acres  of  Nature's  wild  estate.  Also,  about 
a  score  of  dwellings  were  scattered  here  and  there. 
But  by  far  the  larger  part  had  the  appearance  of 
open  common.  The  streets,  (then  only  country 
roads,)  were  few;  but  numerous  footpaths  ran  in  all 
directions  and  led  straight  across  the  fields  to  every- 
body's door.  There  was  hardly  a  right-angled 
corner  to  turn,  in  all  the  eastern  portion  of  the  town. 
Even  the  iron  rails  of  the  S.  P.  turned  aside  in  a 
graceful  curve  to  avoid  the  immovable  cabin  of  Mrs. 

n.  Detached  patches  of  grain  and  hay  ripened 

under  the  July  sunshine.  Everywhere  else  the  as- 
sertive tarweed  flourished,  to  smear  with  its  black 
mucilage  the  trouser-leg  and  the  trailing  skirt.  The 
summer  trade-winds  caught  up  a  glory  of  dust  into 
clouds  that  rivaled  the  fog.  In  clear  and  quiet 
weather  each  dwelling  enjoyed  an  unobstructed  view 

28 


of  the  Bay,  and  the  opening  into  the  Pacific  seemed  Lang 
so  wide  and  ample  that  every  resident,  from  Tem-  Syne 
escal  almost  to  San  Pablo,  claimed  for  his  own  house 
the  distinction  of  being  "exactly  opposite  the  Golden 
Gate."  The  hills,  eastward,  held  out  as  to-day  their 
irresistible  invitation  to  the  stroller,  but  wore  the 
grace  of  a  more  perfect  solitude  than  now.  One 
might  wander  there  all  day  and  be  utterly  alone  ex- 
cept for  the  browsing  kine,  the  bleating  sheep,  and 
the  inquisitive  ground  squirrel.  The  glistening 
roofs  of  Oakland  and  San  Francisco  appeared  to  be 
farther  away  than  now  from  the  lonely  and  rugged 
summit  of  Grizzly.  Indeed,  all  Berkeley  seemed 
much  closer  and  more  akin  to  nature  than  to  the 
world  of  men.  Alas!  (though  this  may  be  lament- 
able to  only  a  reminiscent  mood,)  that  a  city  should 
have  arisen  here,  driving  back  the  line  of  Nature's 
outposts,  and  covering  her  simplicities  under  a  crust 
of  civilized  improvements! 

Even  the  University  was  not  so  imposing  as  to-day, 
and  seemed  to  the  visitor  more  like  a  pioneer  home 
of  learning  than  an  institution  of  world-wide  rela- 
tions and  reputation.  No  one  can  begrudge  to  edu- 
cation the  multiplied  facilities  of  the  present  time, 
but  there  was  much  that  is  memorable  in  the  status 
of  those  early  days.  Characterized  as  it  was  by 
experimentation  and  the  struggles  incident  to  scanty 
resources  and  the  uncertainties  of  popular  support,  it 
challenged  the  sympathetic  and  active  interest  of  all 
lovers  of  liberal  culture,  and  at  all  times,  the  little 
29 


Lan£  community  here  was  a  unit  in  championship  of  the 
Syne  University  as  against  the  outcries  of  prejudiced 
parties  throughout  the  State. 

Perhaps  this  committal  to  a  common  cause  was 
what  gave  to  the  people  of  the  place  a  social  unity 
also  in  that  period.  Moreover,  we  were  hardly 
many  enough  then  for  factions  and  cliques,  and  the 
tracing  of  those  occultly  determined  lines  which 
mark  off  social  zones  and  temperatures.  We  en- 
joyed that  pioneer  sense  of  a  general  community  of 
interests  which  characterizes  the  early  stages  of 
every  growing  society.  Alas!  that  it  so  invariably 
passes,  when  the  tally  of  social  units  becomes  the 
census  of  a  multitude!  How  will  it  be,  we  may 
wonder,  with  the  one  hundred  and  forty-four  thou- 
sand, bearing  the  seal  of  sainthood,  and  gathered  out 
of  the  earth,  according  to  the  Apocalypse,  to  swell 
the  happy  population  of  heaven? 

However  it  may  be  with  the  angelic  multitude  in 
the  future  day,  it  is  certain  that  the  distinctly  human 
and  earthly  dwellers  in  Berkeley,  twenty  and 
twenty-five  years  ago,  were  disposed  to  a  generous 
and  genial  social  grace.  The  free  sociability  of  that 
time  is  a  happy  memory.  The  paths  joining  dwell- 
ing to  dwelling  were  the  worn  ways  of  an  impartial 
good-neighborhood.  So,  also,  the  trails  among  the 
hills;  they  testified  to  the  ramble  and  loiter  of  a 
chummy  comradeship  unchilled  by  hesitations.  And 
it  was  even  true  that  for  a  considerable  time  we  had 
here  but  a  single  church,  in  which  the  variant  faiths 

30 


forgot  their  divergencies  and  coalesced  in  a  unity  of  Lang 
the  spirit  for  the  worship  of  the  One  Father.  Good  Syne 
old  times! 

Some  of  the  conspicuous  figures  of  that  earlier 
circle  still  move  in  the  larger  round  of  Berkeley  life. 
They  need  not  to  be  named  here;  they  are  among 
the  specially  honored  citizens  of  our  present  day,  or 
hold  their  places  in  the  University  faculty  through 
the  deserts  of  their  fidelity,  wisdom,  and  beneficent 
achievements.  Others  are  now  elsewhere  in  the 
world  of  men,  putting  their  hands  to  useful  task 
and  honorable  service.  And  yet  others  have  "crossed 
the  bar,"  and  sailed  forth  through  "Gates  of  Gold" 
to  that  far  continent  of  our  faith,  built  of  "the  sub- 
stance of  things  hoped  for." 

May  we  not  fittingly  name  two  or  three  of  these 
last,  in  token  of  a  memory  as  touching  them  which 
no  autumn  of  time  will  cause  to  fade  and  grow  sere? 
Among  them  was  C.  T.  H.  Palmer,  whose  native 
keenness  of  intellect,  and  preeminent  social  geniality 
transmuted  even  a  disability  into  a  much  appre- 
ciated advantage,  as  an  ictus  for  his  ever-ready  wit, 
or  for  the  incisive  utterance  of  his  unfailing  word  of 
wisdom.  There  was  Edward  Rowland  Sill,  whom 
to  know  in  intimacy  was  to  dwell  in  the  presence  of 
a  living  poem,  in  which  the  notes  of  Nature,  the 
accents  of  the  Infinite  Spirit,  and  the  holy  passions 
of  a  human  soul  all  sang  in  harmony,  prophesying  of 
vital  truth.  There,  too,  was  that  scholar  of  fore- 
most rank,  the  elder  Le  Conte.     For  in  those  days 

31 


Lan£  there  were  two  to  be  venerated  and  loved  under  that 
Syne  honored  surname;  although  we  more  habitually 
"had  reverence  to  them,"  (to  adopt  Mrs.  Parting- 
ton's felicitous  misuse  of  a  word,)  by  substituting 
those  titles  of  special  and  affectionate  distinction — 
"Professor  John,"  and  "Professor  Joe."  There  were 
others  also  with  us  then — like  Hamilton,  who  dwelt 
for  a  time  among  the  trees  on  the  initial  lift  of 
yonder  hill — who  have  since  joined  the  Choir  In- 
visible. These  are  now  of  those  "shadow  men," 
departed  out  of  the  flesh,  but  living  among  us  still 
through  the  vital  persistence  of  the  spirit,  and  our 
imperishable  remembrance  of  their  words  and  deeds. 

But  now  as  these  last  lines  are  written  the  bells 
are  ringing  in  an  autumn  day  of  this  1898.  A  glance 
through  the  open  window  reveals  a  new  Berkeley, 
the  hale  and  vigorous  growth  of  a  quarter  century, 
testifying  to  the  developing  power  of  time,  under 
the  guidance  of  a  dynamic  idea  such  as  Education. 
In  this  scene  the  vestiges  of  the  old  Berkeley  are 
few,  and  some  of  them  not  easily  traced.  North 
and  South  Halls  stand  yet  on  their  conspicuous  sites, 
to  give  way  eventually,  no  doubt,  before  the  already 
invoked  genius  of  the  world,  bringing  in  an  archi- 
tecture proportionate  to  Nature's  work  as  here  dis- 
played. There  are  also  yet  to  be  seen  most  of  the 
few  houses  of  the  former  time;  but  when  memory 
knocks  at  the  doors  it  is  only  to  be  met  by  strange 
faces  and  new  voices.     The  Old  has  had  its  day; 

32 


the  New  is  here,  and  prevails  in  its  incontestable       Lang 
right.     And  while  we  cherish  the  reminiscent  pic-        Syne 
tures  of  the  Berkeley  that  was,  we  rejoice  in  the 
Berkeley  that  is  and  is  to  be. 

Edward  B.  Payne. 


33 


05 


Q 
< 
O 

o 
< 


Joy  of 

The  Morning 


HEAR  you,  little  bird, 
Shouting  aswing  above  the  broken  wall, 
Shout  louder  yet:  no  song  can  tell  it  all. 
Sing  to  my  soul  in  the  deep  still  wood 
'  Tis  wonderful  beyondthe  wildest  word: 
I'd  tell  it,  too,  if  I  could. 


Joy 

of  the 

Morning 


Oft  when  the  white  still  dawn 

Lifted  the  skies  and  pushed  the  hills  apart, 

I've  felt  it  like  a  glory  in  my  heart — 

(The  world's  mysterious  stir) 

But  had  no  throat  like  yours,  my  bird. 

Nor  such  a  listener. 

Edwin  Markham. 


The  Pilgrimage. 

I  made  a  pilgrimage  to  find  the  God; 

I  listened  for  his  voice  at  holy  tombs, 

Searched  for  the  print  of  his  immortal  feet 

In  dust  of  broken  altars;  yet  turned  back 

With  empty  heart.     But  on  the  homeward  road, 

A  great  light  come  upon  me,  and  I  heard 

The  God's  voice  singing  in  a  nesting  lark; 

Felt  his  sweet  wonder  in  a  swaying  rose; 

Received  his  blessing  from  a  wayside  well; 

Looked  on  his  beauty  in  a  lover's  face; 

Saw  his  bright  hand  send  signals  from  the  sun. 

Edwin  Markham. 


39 


A  Glimpse  of 

The  Birds  of  Berkeley 


S  the  seasons  come  and  go,  a 
host  of  birds  tarry  within  the 
confines  of  Berkeley,  some  to 
make  their  nests  and  rear  their 
broods,  others  to  sojourn  for 
but  a  brief  interval  in  passing 
from  their  summer  to  their 
winter  haunts,  and  in  the  joy- 
ful return  of  spring.  They  in- 
habit the  spreading  branches  of 
the  live  oaks,  and  the  open 
meadows  are  their  home.  They 
dwell  in  the  leafy  recesses  of 
the  canons  and  haunt  the  shrub- 
bery of  our  gardens. 

It  is  impossible  to  understand 
our  birds  without  knowing 
something  of  their  surroundings 
— of  the  lovely  reach  of  ascend- 
ing plain  from  the  bay  shore  to 
the  rolling  slopes  of  the  Berke- 
ley Hills  (mountains,  our  east- 
ern friends  call  them)  ;  of  the 
cold,  clear  streams  of  water 
which  have  cut  their  way  from 
the  hill  crests  down  into  the 
plain,  forming  lovely  cafions 
with  great  old  live  oaks  in  their 
lower  and  more  open  portions, 


A 

Glimpse 

of  the 

Birds  of 

Berkeley 


43 


A         and  sweet-scented  laurel  or  bay  trees  crowded  into 

Glimpse    their  narrower  and  more  precipitous  parts;  of  the 

of  the      great  expanse  of  open  hill  slopes,  green  and  tender 

Birds  of    during  the  months  of  winter  rain,  and  soft  brown 

Berkeley     and  purple  when  the  summer  sun  has  parched  the 

grass  and  flowers.     These,  with  cultivated  gardens 

and  fields  of  grain,  make  the  environment  of  our 

birds,  and  here  they  live  their  busy  lives. 

There  comes  a  morning  during  the  month  of  Sep- 
tember when  a  peculiarly  clear,  crisp  quality  of  the 
air  first  suggests  the  presence  of  autumn.  It  is 
something  intangible,  inexpressible,  but  to  me  vital 
and  significant  of  change.  In  my  morning  walk  I 
notice  the  first  red  tips  upon  the  maple  leaves,  and 
catch  the  first  notes  of  autumn  birds.  I  hear  the 
call  of  the  red-breasted  nuthatch,  a  fine,  monotonous, 
far-away  pipe,  uttered  in  a  succession  of  short  notes, 
and  upon  looking  among  the  live  oaks,  detect  the 
little  fellow  hopping  about  upon  the  bark.  He  is  a 
mere  scrap  of  a  bird,  with  a  back  of  bluish  gray  and 
a  breast  of  a  dull,  rusty-red  hue,  a  cap  of  black  and  a 
white  stripe  over  the  eye — a  veritable  gnome  of  the 
bark,  upon  which  he  lives  the  year  round.  In  its 
crannies  he  pries  with  his  strong,  sharply-pointed 
beak  for  his  insect  food,  and  in  some  hollow  his  little 
mate  lays  her  eggs  and  rears  her  brood.  With  so 
many  woodpecker  traits  he  nevertheless  differs 
widely  in  structure  from  that  group,  being  more 
closely  allied  to  the  wrens  and  titmice.  He  is  with 
us    in    greater   or   less    abundance   throughout    the 

44 


winter,  and  his  very  characteristic  call  may  be  heard         A 
from  time  to  time  both  in  the  University  Grounds     Glimpse 
and  in  the  canons,  of  the 

With  the  nuthatches,  come  from  their  northern  Birds  of 
breeding  places,  the  pileolated  warblers,  and  other  Berkeley 
shy  wood-creatures  which  haunt  the  quiet,  out-of- 
the-way  nooks,  and  shrink  from  the  presence  of  man. 
The  pileolated  warbler  is  one  of  the  loveliest,  dain- 
tiest creatures  that  visit  us.  As  I  walk  in  my  favorite 
nook  in  the  hills,  Woolsey's  Canon,  to  the  north  of 
the  University  Grounds,  I  see  a  lithe,  active,  alert 
little  bird,  gleaning  for  insects  among  the  leaves, 
now  high  up  among  the  branches,  and  again  darting 
hither  and  thither  downward  to  where  the  fine 
thread  of  water  has  formed  a  pool,  there  to  bathe 
an  instant  and  then,  with  a  lightsome  toss  of  spray 
flirted  from  its  wings,  to  resume  its  quest  among  the 
bay  leaves.  It  is  a  waif  of  gold  with  a  crown  of  jet, 
and  its  song,  a  sweet,  sudden  burst  of  woodland 
music,  is  quite  in  keeping  with  the  singer. 

Let  me  picture  my  cafion  in  the  autumn  time, 
when  the  open  hill-slopes  are  covered  with  tarweed 
and  dead  grass,  and  the  country  roads  are  deep  in 
dust.  There  is  a  quiet,  almost  sacred  feeling  about 
the  place,  shut  in  by  steep  hill-slopes,  crowded  with 
bay  trees  through  which  the  sun  filters  in  scattered 
beams,  and  carpeted  with  ferns  and  fallen  leaves. 
Bulrushes,  with  their  long,  graceful  filaments  en- 
circling their  jointed  stems,  spring  from  the  tangle 
of   shrubbery,    and    the    broad,    soft    leaves   of    the 

45 


J         thimbleberry,  now  beginning  to  turn  brown,  fill  in 
Glimpse    the  recesses  with  foliage.     Great  slimy,  yellowish- 
ofthe      green  slugs  cling  to  the  moist  rocks,  and  water-dogs 
Birds  of   sprawl  stupidly  in  the  pools. 

Berkeley  A  loud,  ringing  call  sounds  above  as  a  flicker 
comes  our  way  and  announces  his  presence  with  an 
emphatic  ye  up!  He  is  with  us  all  the  year  through, 
and  an  interesting  fellow  I  have  found  him.  Not 
wholly  a  woodpecker,  and  yet  too  closely  related  to 
that  family  to  be  widely  parted,  he  is  an  anomaly  in 
the  bird  world.  Sometimes  he  alights  upon  the 
ground  and  grubs  for  food  like  a  meadow  lark,  while 
again  he  hops  in  true  woodpecker  fashion  upon  the 
tree  trunk,  pecking  holes  in  the  bark.  He  has  the 
proud  distinction  of  being  the  only  California  bird 
which  habitually  intermarries  with  an  eastern  rep- 
resentative of  the  genus — the  golden-shafted  flicker 
of  the  Atlantic  States  and  the  red-shafted  flicker 
of  the  Pacific  region  intermingling  In  a  most  be- 
wildering way,  so  that  hybrids  are  almost  as  nu- 
merous in  some  sections  as  the  pure  species. 

The  flicker  is  a  large,  showy  bird,  somewhat 
greater  than  a  robin  in  size,  with  a  conspicuous 
white  rump-patch,  and  with  the  shafts  and  inner 
webs  of  the  wings  and  tail  colored  a  bright  scarlet. 
The  male  bird  is  also  adorned  with  a  streak  of  the 
same  color  on  each  side  of  the  throat.  The  back  is 
brown,  closely  barred  with  black,  and  the  under 
parts  are  pinkish  buff,  marked  with  a  large  black 

46 


crescentic  patch  on  the  breast  and  conspicuous  round 
black  dots  on  the  lower  portions  of  the  body. 

In  the  spring  time  the  flickers  bore  a  deep  hole  in 
a  decayed  oak  limb  and  the  mother  bird  lays  there 
ten  or  more  of  the  most  beautiful  eggs  which  ever 
gladdened  a  mother  bird's  heart,  save  that  I  fear 
her  little  home  is  too  dark  to  give  her  so  much  as 
a  peep  at  her  treasures.  They  are  white,  with  a 
wavy  texture,  like  water  marks  in  the  shell,  and, 
when  fresh,  beautifully  flushed  with  pink,  more  deli- 
cate in  color  than  a  baby's  ear.  When  the  young 
brood  are  all  hatched  what  a  clamoring  and  calling 
there  is  about  that  hole,  what  an  array  of  hungry 
beaks  are  thrust  out  awaiting  the  morsel  that  the 
busy  parent  carries  to  them!  But  now,  in  the 
autumn  time,  the  family  cares  are  ended  and  the 
flicker  roams  the  woodland  contented  and  well  fed. 
Long  may  his  piercing,  buoyant  call  ring  amid  our 
hills,  and  his  coat  of  many  colors  adorn  our  land- 
scape I 

I  cannot  speak  of  noisy  birds  without  recalling 
the  jays,  for  they  are  the  noisiest,  rollicking,  happy- 
go-lucky  fellows  that  make  their  home  in  our  canons. 
They  laugh  and  screech  by  turns,  they  question  and 
scold.  Even  when  on  the  wing  they  utter  a  succes- 
sion of  loud,  insistent  call  notes,  and  upon  alighting, 
mischievously  question  in  a  shrill  squeak,  "well? 
■wellf"  I  am  speaking  of  the  California  jay  which 
is  the  common  species  about  Berkeley, — a  long,  rath- 
er slender  fellow,  without  a  crest  such  as  the  blue- 


A 

Glimpse 

of  the 

Birds  of 

Berkeley 


47 


A         fronted  jay  of  the  redwoods  possesses.     Its  back  is 
Glimpse     colored  blue  and  brownish  gray,  and  its  breast  is  a 
of  the      lighter  gray,  edged  and  faintly  streaked  with  blue. 
Birds  of    Its  manners  are  often  quiet  and  dignified  when  sit- 
Berkeley    ting  still  and  eyeing  an  intruder,  not  without  a  half 
scornful,  half  inquisitive  glance,  I  fancy;  but  with 
a  sudden  whim  it  is  aroused  to  animation,  flirting  its 
tail,  bending  its  head  on  one  side  and  suddenly  flut- 
tering away  with  a  loud  laugh. 

Another  of  my  canon  friends  is  the  wren  tit,  a 
bird  which  is  found  only  in  California,  and  without 
a  counterpart,  so  far  as  I  am  aware,  the  world  over. 
It  is  a  friendly  little  fellow,  considerably  smaller 
than  a  sparrow,  but  with  a  long  tail  usually  held 
erect  in  true  wren  fashion.  Its  plumage  is  soft  and 
fluffy  and  its  colors  as  sober  as  a  monk's,  brown 
above  and  below,  but  somewhat  paler  on  the  under 
portions  where  a  tinge  of  cinnamon  appears.  The 
wren  tit  is  a  fearless,  friendly  little  creature,  hop- 
ping about  in  the  tangle  of  blackberry  vines  almost 
within  reach  of  my  outstretched  hand,  but  so  quiet 
are  its  colors  and  so  dense  the  thickets  which  it  in- 
habits, that  the  careless  eye  might  well  overlook  it. 
The  little  low  chatter  which  it  utters  tells  us  of 
its  presence,  and  if  we  wait  quietly  for  a  moment 
it  may  even  favor  us  with  a  song.  It  is  a  simple 
strain,  a  high-pitched  pipe — tit-tit-tit-t  rrrrre! 
but  a  sweet  and  characteristic  note  in  our  canons. 

As  autumn  moves  on  apace  the  winter  birds  as- 
semble in  full  force.    The  golden-crowned  sparrows 

48 


come  flocking  from  their  Alaskan  and  British  Co-         A 
lumbian   homes,   and   the   Gambel's  white-crowned     Glimpse 
sparrows  from  their  breeding  places  in  the  moun-      of  the 
tains, — the  one  adorned  with  a  crown  of  dull  gold,    Birds  of 
black  bordered,  and  the  other  with  a  head  marked    Berkeley 
with  broad  stripes  of  black  and  white.     Both  have 
backs  of  streaked  brown  and  gray,  and  breasts  of 
buff  or  ash.     They  are  among  our  commonest  and 
most    familiar    winter    residents,  dwelling    in    our 
gardens  as  well  as  in  the  thickets  among  the  hills, 
and   singing    even    during   the   milder    rains.     The 
call  note  of  both  species  is  a  lisping  tsip,  and  their 
songs  have  the  same  quality  of  tone — a  fine,  high, 
long-drawn  whistle.     I  have  written  down  the  most 
usual  song  of  each  species  in  musical  form,  and  re- 
peat them  as  follows.    The  golden-crowned  sparrow 
sings:  8va. 


$ 


m 


The  song  of  Gambel's  sparrow  is  a  trifle  more 

elaborate,  commencing  on  an  upward  scale,  instead 

of  the  downward,  as  in  the  former  case.     Loud  and 

clear  comes  from  the  rose  bushes  the  treble  whistle: 

8va 


^       :^      ^f:  ^k^  ^ 


49 


A  Gambel's  sparrow  sings   not   only   all   day   long 

Glimpse    but  occasionally  at  night.    Often  upon  a  dark,  misty 

of  the      night  in  February  or  March  I  have  heard  a  sudden 

Birds  of   burst  of  bird  music,  and  recognized  the  very  clearly- 

Berkeley     marked   strains  of  this  bird.     Coming  out  of  the 

dark,  damp  night,  so  sudden  and  so  beautiful,  and 

followed  by  so  perfect  a  calm,  I  know  of  no  more 

impressive  bird  music. 

When  the  rainy  months  of  winter  are  ended  and 
the  meadow  lark  is  sounding  his  loud,  rich  strains 
from  the  field,  and  the  linnet  is  fluttering  and  bub- 
bling over  with  song,  a  host  of  merry  travelers  come 
hurrying  to  our  trees  and  gardens.  The  jolly  little 
western  house  wren  bobs  about  in  the  brush,  and, 
as  the  wild  currant  puts  forth  its  first  pink,  pendu- 
lous blossoms,  the  beautiful  little  rufous  humming- 
bird comes  to  dine  upon  them.  I  know  not  how  he 
times  his  visit  so  closely,  but  certain  it  is  that  the 
pungent  woody  odor  of  these  blossoms  is  inseparably 
linked  in  my  mind  with  the  fine,  high,  insect-like 
note  of  these  pugnacious  little  mites  in  coats  of  shim- 
mering fire,  that  come  to  us  from  General  America 
at  the  very  first  intimation  of  spring. 

In  April  arrive  the  summer  birds,  full  of  the  joy 
of  the  mating  season.  The  Bullock's  oriole,  clad  in 
black,  orange,  and  gold,  sings  its  loud,  elated  strain 
from  the  tree  tops,  the  black-headed  grosbeak  carols 
in  the  orchard,  the  lovely,  little,  blue-backed,  red- 
breasted  lazuli  bunting  warbles  in  the  shrubbery, 
and  finally,  the  stately,  russet-backed  thrush,  quiet 

50 


and  dignified  in  his  coat  of  brown,    with    white,         A 
speckled  breast,  the  most  royal  singer  of  our  groves.     Glimpse 
sends  forth  upon  the  evening  air  such  sweet  organ       of  the 
tones  that  the  whole  night  is  full  of  melody.  Birds  of 

I  would  that  our  birds  might  receive  some  meas-  Berkeley 
ure  of  the  appreciation  which  is  due  them,  and  that 
we  might  all  turn  at  times  from  the  busy  affairs  of 
life  to  listen  to  their  sweet  songs  and  winning  ways. 
May  they  ever  find  within  the  confines  of  Berkeley 
a  haven  of  refuge  from  that  merciless  persecution 
which  is  steadily  reducing  their  numbers.  May 
they  find  here  loving  friends  ready  to  champion 
their  cause,  and  may  they  ever  be  considered  the 
chief  ornament  of  our  hills  and  gardens! 

Charles  A.  Keeler. 


SI 


Walks  About 
Berkeley 


»r^-^^^ 


■'.^^■•■\r'^. 


HE  casual  observer  might  find 
very   little   of   promise   in   the 
Berkeley  hills  to  lure  him  on  to 
their  exploration.  Their  brown 
slopes,   wrinkled    and    thread- 
bare as  the  sleeve  of  a  hunter's 
jacket,  seem   to   reveal   to   the 
very  first  glance  all  that  they 
hold  in  store.  No  surprise,  sure- 
ly, can  be  waiting  for  one  on 
those  bare,  open  hillsides.   The 
imagination  pictures  no  secret 
nooks,   no  wooded   ravines,   no 
crag   or   waterfall    behind    the 
straggling  screen   of   fern   and 
scrub  that  fringes    its    water- 
ways. Yet,  after  all,  the  charm 
of  surprise  is  a  veritable  feature 
of  the  walks  about  Berkeley — 
surprise  not  keen  and  startling, 
to  be  sure,  but  genuine  and  of 
the  quality  that  does  not  pall 
by  frequent  repetition.      Thus 
it  is  that  the  number  and  va- 
riety   of    these    rambles    is    a 
source  of  unending  pleasure  to 
those  who  have  come  to  know 
them.    There  is  a  large  grada- 
tion too  in  their  extent  and  in 


Walks 

About 

Berkeley 


57 


Walks  the  effort  they  require: — the  quiet  saunter  up  Straw- 
Jbout  berry  Canon  in  the  gloaming,  the  long  afternoon 
Berkeley  ramble  over  the  hills  to  Orindo  Park,  the  all-day 
tramp  by  the  Fish  Ranch  to  Redwood  Canon  and 
Maraga  Peak,  or  more  strenuous  still,  the  cross- 
country trip  to  Diablo.  You  may  follow  the  quiet 
country  lanes  with  pastures,  orchards,  and  grain- 
fields  dotted  about  here  and  there  among  the  en- 
veloping wildness.  You  may  even  find  abandoned 
roadways  leading  nowhither,  constructed  at  large 
expense  by  some  one  who  surely  was  a  lover  of  his 
kind,  and  now  bequeathed  to  your  sole  use  and 
behoof.  You  may  thread  some  cool,  mossy  ravine 
where  the  stream  runs  deep  in  its  rocky  channel, 
under  a  close  roof  of  alders  and  redwoods.  Or 
you  may  breast  the  steep  slope,  each  step  opening 
up  a  wider  and  wider  prospect,  until  from  the  east 
you  catch  the  exultant  flash  of  Sierra  snows,  and 
on  the  west,  far  beyond  Golden  Gate  and  Faral- 
lones,  you  gaze  with  awe  on  the  immensity  of  the 
Pacific. 

I  do  not  mean  to  weary  the  reader  with  an  itin- 
erary of  these  various  routes,  or  a  tabulation  of 
their  peculiar  charms.  Such  things  are  best  learned 
when  they  come  with  the  zest  of  discovery.  To 
one  quaint  nook  only  would  I  offer  to  conduct  my 
reader,  and  with  the  more  reason,  perhaps,  because 
while  it  is  easy  enough  of  access,  it  seems  to  be 
very  little  known.  The  place  is  called  Boswell's, 
though  why  so  called  I  have  never  been  able  to 

58 


guess.  The  name  suggests  human  habitation  at 
least,  if  not  also  vulgar  resort  and  entertainment; 
but  both  suggestions  are  wide  of  the  mark.  Our 
visit  shall  be  on  some  bright  morning  in  April.  We 
take  the  train  to  Berryman  station,  and  zig-zagging 
thence  northwestward,  we  soon  are  clear  of  the 
thin  fringe  of  dwelling-houses,  and  out  among  the 
fields.  Our  course  so  far  has  been  as  if  for  Feral ta 
Park;  but  instead  of  turning  sharply  down  to  the 
west  at  the  margin  of  a  little  creek,  we  cross  the 
bridge,  and  follow  the  country  lane  northward. 
When  the  lane  also  turns  abruptly  westward,  some 
half-mile  further  on,  we  abandon  it  altogether,  con- 
tinuing our  former  direction  over  fields  and  fences, 
and  across  two  little  waterways.  Beyond  the  second 
rivulet  we  reach  a  broad  slope  thickly  strewn  with 
rocks  and  boulders,  and  dotted  about  with  low  trees 
and  shrubs.    This  is  Boswell's. 

The  air  all  along  has  been  full  of  the  sounds  and 
scents  of  spring: — the  gurgling  notes  of  the  meadow- 
lark,  the  rich  smell  of  newlj^-ploughed  fields,  the 
warm  breath  of  mustard  in  bloom.  But  this  un- 
tamable rock-strewn  area,  like  the  Buddhist  monas- 
teries of  the  Far  East,  has  become  a  veritable  sanc- 
tuary for  plants  and  living  creatures  that  could  not 
maintain  themselves  in  the  open  in  their  unequal 
struggle  with  that  fell  destroyer,  man.  Here  the 
wood-rat  has  piled  undisturbed  his  huge  shelter  of 
sticks.  The  warbler  and  the  thrush  are  singing 
from  every  covert.     The  woodpecker  and  the  squir- 


IValks 

About 

Berkeley 


59 


Walks  rel  shadow  you  from  behind  tree-trunk  or  rock  to 
About  discover  your  intent  in  trespassing  thus  upon  their 
Berkeley  private  domain;  while  the  flycatcher  flashes  his  de- 
fiance in  your  very  face,  if  you  venture  too  near  his 
mate  on  her  nest.  Nor  is  it  otherwise  with  the 
plants.  Delicate  species  that  are  fast  disappearing 
before  cultivation — the  blue  nemophila,  the  shy  calo- 
chortus,  the  bright  pansy-violet — bloom  here  undis- 
turbed in  all  their  pathetic  beauty.  "If  God  so 
clothe  the  grass  of  the  field,  which  to-day  is,  and  to- 
morrow is  cast  into  the  oven,  shall  he  not  much 
more  clothe  you,  O  ye  of  little  faith?" 

But  we  linger  here  too  long  upon  the  threshold. 
The  tract  is  a  considerable  one,  and  midway  there 
is  thrust  up  into  it  from  the  west  a  sombre  wedge  of 
eucalyptus  forest,  contrasting  strangely  with  the  rest 
of  the  scene.  For  here  we  seem  to  be  in  a  region 
three  thousand  miles  away, — in  a  veritable  bit  of 
New  England  hill-pasture  with  its  labyrinthine 
paths,  its  ever-changing  short  vistas,  its  endless  series 
of  little  secluded  alcoves  walled  about  with  shrub- 
bery and  carpeted  with  grass  and  flowers.  The 
rocks  too  are  of  striking  size  and  form,  and  culmi- 
nate near  the  lower  end  of  the  tract  in  a  bold,  fan- 
tastic crag,  in  itself  well  worth  the  effort  to  visit  it. 
But  the  most  unlooked-for  feature  of  the  place  is  its 
air  of  remoteness  and  seclusion.  Here  it  lies,  spread 
out  on  the  open  hillside,  in  full  view  from  bay  and 
from  town.  Yet  as  we  thread  its  quiet  alleys,  or  lie 
dreaming  in  the  sunshine  under  the  lee  of  its  rocks, 

60 


we  seem  to  have  journeyed  leagues  from  the  work- 
a-day  world  we  left  behind  us  but  an  hour  ago. 

It  is  good  to  be  here!  And  good  it  is  also  to  re- 
turn to  the  world.  The  joy  of  the  scene  and  the 
season,  the  clearer  brain  and  quickened  pulses  we 
shall  bring  back  with  us  as  we  take  up  again  the 
efifort  and  struggle.  And  more  than  this  we  may 
sometimes  bring  from  such  a  sanctuary, — some  heav- 
enly vision, — some  far-seen  glimpse  of  a  transfigured 
life  that  may  be  ours — in  the  strength  of  which  we 
shall  go  many  days,  even  unto  the  mount  of  God. 

Cornelius  Beach  Bradley. 


Walks 

About 

Berkeley 


6i 


The  Trees  of 
Berkeley 


[MONG  many  happy  remem- 
brances of  the  Californian 
out-of-door  world  which  some 
sixteen  years  of  residence  on 
that  delightful  coast  have  left 
with  me,  to  stay  while  mem- 
ory lasts,  is  that  of  the 
Berkeley  landscape.  And  one 
cherishes  such  a  mental  pic- 
ture as  that  of  those  massive 
hills,  with  undulating  slopes 
and  rounded  summits,  all  ver- 
dure-clad and  flowery,  almost 
from  the  beginning  of  the  year 
till  midsummer ;  then  for  suc- 
ceeding weeks  as  beautiful 
with  a  kind  of  harvest-field 
yellow,  this  deepening  into 
brown  as  autumn  days  draw 
near;  and  always  varying 
in  their  beauty  with  every 
change  in  the  everchanging 
sky;  beautiful  under  cloud, 
and  in  sunshine;  beautiful  in 
the  light  of  early  morning,  in 
the  effulgence  of  noonday,  and 
at  the  setting  of  the  sun. 

And  this  fine  picture  of  the 
higher  hills  has  a  rich  fore- 


The 
Trees  of 
Berkeley 


67 


The  ground  in  the  groves  and  thickets  which  adorn  the 
Trees  of  lower  slopes  and  thence  extend  to  the  plain  below. 
Berkeley  Alders  throughout  the  northern  zone  follow  the 
water  courses  in  hilly  districts,  but  usually  as  a  fringe 
of  shrubs;  but  here  in  the  Berkeley  canons  they  are 
trees,  and  shapely  ones,  almost  replacing  the  admired 
beeches  of  our  Eastern  States  and  of  Europe;  the 
beech  being  absent  from  California,  And  above  the 
alders,  on  drier  ground  flourishes  the  California 
Laurel ;  this,  in  its  compact  habit,  perennial  verdure, 
keen  fragrance  of  foliage,  and  in  the  beauty  of  its 
wood,  having  no  compeer  among  its  own  kindred 
on  our  continent. 

And  the  more  humble  woody  and  bushy  grov/ths 
associated  along  the  stream-banks  with  the  trees 
aforenamed,  in  their  own  way  surpass  them  in  grace 
and  beauty.  Such  are  the  pink-flowered  wild  cur- 
rants; and  even  the  wild  gooseberries  native  to  these 
hills;  and  these  last,  though  they  yield  but  prickly 
and  insipid  fruits,  more  than  compensate  for  this 
at  flowering  time  by  the  strongly  contrasted  clear 
white  and  deep  red  or  dark  purple  of  their  large  al- 
most fuchsia-like  flowers;  these  being  put  forth  in 
profusion  often  before  the  mild  winter  season  of 
Berkeley  is  past.  A  few  weeks  later  and  the  ceano- 
thus  bushes,  masses  of  bloom  intensely  blue,  are  seen 
intermixed  with  the  soft  plume-like  white  panicles 
of  the  wild  spiraea;  the  two  together,  or  either  one 
alone,  charming  every  lover  of  the  flowery  out-of- 
door  world. 

68 


The  groves  which  formerly  covered  all  the  com-        The 
paratively  level  country  that  lies  along  the  bases     Trees  of 
of  the  hills,  and  of  which  considerable  remnants  are     Berkeley 
still  to  be  seen,  especially  on  the  University  grounds, 
consisted  mainly  of  the  native  oak,  with  more  or  less 
of  the  Californian  Bucke^-e,  or  Horsechestnut  inter- 
mixed.   Within  the  last  forty  years  many  exotic  trees 
have  been  planted,  either  among  the  oaks,  or  in  mass- 
es apart  from  them,  where  they  now  form  separate 
groves.    But  it  is  interesting  to  note  in  what  perfect 
keeping  with  the  landscape  of  rounded  hills  above 
them  the  native  oaks  are,  as  to  form  and  outline.  For 
all  of  them,  however  large,  present  a  comparatively 
low,  broad,  and  evenly  rounded  figure,  exceedingly 
unlike  that  of  the  oaks  of  other  countries,  and  ex- 
actly harmonizing  with  the  general  outlines  of  the 
Californian  coast  hills  whose  bases  they  adorn.     En- 
tering under  one  of  these  oaks,  the  trunk  is  seen  to 
be  parted  from  near  the  ground  into  ten  or  more, 
each  separate  trunk  extending  upwards  half  horizon- 
tally, in  such  wise  that  the  horizontal  extent  of  the 
tree  as  a  whole  quite  exceeds  its  height ;  and  occa- 
sionally one  or  more  of  the  arms  of  the  trunk  almost 
recline  along  the  ground ;  thus  affording  not  only  a 
deep  shade,  but  a  resting  place  for  the  out-of-door 
saunterer  who  enters  this  leafy  retreat.     And,  our 
oaks  retain  their  verdure  throughout  the  year.  With- 
out being  evergreen   in  the  strictest  sense,  yet,  the 
leaves  of  one  season  remain  fresh  and  in  place  all 
through  autumn  and  winter,  and  are  only  ready  to 

69 


The       fall  when   the  foliage  for  the  new  year  is  almost 

Trees  of    full-grown  in  April, 

Berkeley  The  Buckeye  is  also,  in  a  smaller  way,  broad,  rath- 
er than  tall,  and  offers  almost  as  deep  and  banyan- 
like a  bower  of  shadiness  in  summer  as  the  oak;  and 
in  flower,  with  its  long  spindle-like  garlands  of  pale 
pinkish  bloom,  is  one  of  the  finest  ornamental  trees 
of  which  any  land  can  boast. 

Somewhat  later  in  the  summer  than  the  flowering 
of  the  Buckeye,  there  appear  the  rather  dull-white 
clusters  of  the  bloom  of  the  Christmas  Berry,  or 
Californian  Holly;  a  small  tree,  and  evergreen;  not 
at  all  conspicuous  in  flower,  yet,  in  November  and 
December  days,  when  its  ample  bunches  of  berries 
have  ripened  to  rich  crimson,  easily  rivaling  the  real 
Holly  in  its  beauty. 

The  exotic  trees  which  have  found  the  Californian 
soil  and  climate  congenial,  and  which  have  come  to 
form  a  notable  element  in  the  Berkeley  landscape, 
are  so  numerous  in  species  that  one  must  not  attempt 
to  name  half  of  them,  where  space  is  limited;  but 
there  are  some  which  should  not  here  be  left  without 
brief  mention.  The  large  Eucalypti,  for  example, 
when  growing  singly  or  in  small  groups  among  the 
native  oaks,  and  towering  far  above  them,  have  not 
only  a  certain  combination  of  grace  and  majesty  of 
their  own,  but  give  a  variety  to  the  landscape  which 
is  most  pleasing. 

And  again ;  the  Cassias,  so  surpassingly  beautiful 
when,  at  the  end  of  winter,  they  deck  themselves 

70 


completely  in  soft  sprays  of  feathery  yellow  bloom —        The 
these  in  all  their  varieties,  unite  with  lilac  and  la-     Trees  of 
burnum,  almond-tree  and  apple-tree,  and  a  host  of    Berkeley 
other    flower-bearing    tree-growths,    to    make    the 
Berkeley  parks  and  ways  in  spring  fair  and  fragrant 
as  the  paths  of  Paradise. 

Edward  L.  Greene. 


71 


m.: 


In  The  Berkeley  Hills 

By  James  William  Cress/ey 


On  Berkeley 
Hills 


I  HE  sun  lies  warm  on  Berkeley  hills :  On 

The  long,  fair  slopes  bend  softly  down     Berkeley 
To  fold  in  loving  arms  the  town ;  Htlls 

The  sun-kissed  uplands  rise  and  swell, 
And  blue-eyed  grass  and  pimpernel 
Dot  the  young  meadow's  velvet  sheen. 
The  air  with  spring-time  music  thrills, 
Sweet  songs  of  birds  in  halls  of  green 
On  Berkeley  hills. 

The  sun  lies  warm  on  Berkeley  hills: 
The  poppies  gleaming  orange-red 
Down  the  broad  fields  their  mantles  spread; 
Beyond  the  marshes  glints  the  Bay, 
Its  islands  lying  brown  and  bare 
Leviathan-like  sunning  there. 
Brave  ships  are  sailing  through  the  gate, 
The  wi)id  their  spreading  canvas  fills — 
It  whispered  through  the  trees,  but  late. 
On  Berkeley  hills. 

The  sun  lies  warm  on  Berkeley  hills: 
Across  the  Bay,  from  misty  view 
The  City  rises  toward  the  blue; 
With  feet  of  clay,  with  burdened  wings. 
Yet  pressing  up  to  better  things 
From  level  height  to  level  height! 
Here  where  the  hush  all  clamor  stills 
Her  beauty  shows,  a  goodly  sight, 
From  Berkeley  hills. 

75 


On        The  sun  lies  warm  on  Berkeley  hills: 
Berkeley    The  wide  gate  beckons  out  to  sea, 
Hills      Swift  birds  above,  poised  high  and  free 
Invite  the  soul  to  golden  flight 
To  where  there  open  on  the  sight 
Large  visions  of  that  coming  day 
When  faith  that  sees,  when  hope  that  wills 
Shall  bring  man's  best  to  dwell  alway 
On  Berkeley  hills. 

Adeline  Knapp. 


76 


The  Love  of 
Life 


[ANY  years  ago,  just  as  the  fairy  The 
books  have  it,  the  entire  Berkeley  Love  of 
land  from  the  summit  of  the  hills,  Life 
flecked  with  cloud-shadows,  to  the 
sands  of  the  bay  shore,  lying  naked 
in  the  sun,  belonged  to  the  wild  flowers  and  their 
friends,  the  trees  and  shrubs.  The  right  of  the  flow- 
ers, children  of  the  Sun,  to  possess  the  canons,  slopes 
and  fields,  is  of  exceedingly  ancient  origin :  nurtured 
by  Mother  Earth,  heedful  of  the  call  of  the  Rain 
God,  responding  to  their  guardian,  the  Sun,  they 
made  annual  proclamation  of  their  title.  Each  year 
the  wealthy  Lupine  family  came  forth  to  give  the 
sign ;  lowly  Nemophilas  chose  their  places ;  Brodiaeas, 
purple-stalked,  joined  the  company,  while  round 
about,  leaving  nowhere  a  vacant  place,  innumerable 
throngs  of  parti-colored  Gilias  followed  in  the  crim- 
son wake  of  Calandrinia.  Hundreds  of  zealous  re- 
tainers joined  this  foregathering  of  the  inhabitants 
of  the  fields.  On  the  remoter  landscape,  the  Baerias 
filmed  the  ground  with  gold,  while  high  on  some 
half-inaccessible  canon  wall,  Godetias  and  Clarkias, 
crimson-mouthed  and  scarlet-lipped,  stood  as  beauti- 
ful as  victory. 

After  the  caballero,  came  our  own  house-building 
and  pasture-inclosing  people  who  left  scarcely  a 
"  common  "  where  the  delicate  "  first  inhabitants  " 
might  live  as  they  had  lived  in  the  old  days,  but  ap- 
propriated nearly  every  bit  of  meadow  and  hill-slope 
to  themselves. 

79 


The  And  still  our  people,  not  content  with  so  much, 

Love  of  trooped  out  of  their  houses  at  that  season  when  the 
Life  apple-blossom  comes  again  on  the  tree,  and  made 
unceasing  war  on  the  flower  people,  especially  on 
those  most  graceful  or  engaging,  so  that  a  blossom 
raised  its  head  in  overflow  of  happiness  only  to  meet 
death.  Those  people  who,  perhaps  being  lazy,  came 
not  early  enough,  returned  into  the  houses  empty- 
handed,  or  pulled  green  branches  from  the  trees  and 
shrubs  (because  they  are  the  friends  of  the  flowers), 
stripping  down  the  bark  and  leaving  long  gaping 
bleeding  wounds. 

Now  some  of  the  wild  flowers  retreated  into  the 
hills,  some  found  half-secure  hiding  places  in  the 
edges  of  thickets,  and  some  were  never  seen  again. 
But  a  few  others,  hardy  adventurers,  returned  each 
year  with  the  passing  of  the  winter  rains.  Do  you 
not  wonder  that  this  is  so?  Why  is  it?  It  is  be- 
cause of  the  overmastering  love  of  life,  which  is  their 
inheritance,  and  the  endless  pains  that  the  plant  takes 
to  secure  its  own  safety  and  the  safety  and  highest 
welfare  of  its  children.  Blue  Dicks  people  the  south 
canon-sides,  a  glad  company,  because  Blue  Dick 
keeps  most  of  his  precious  body  deep  in  the  ground 
and  there  providently  stores  food  against  blossoming 
and  seed-making  time.  A  handsome  fellow  is  Blue 
Dick  in  the  month  of  March,  with  his  light-blue 
flowers  hugging  close  together  and  their  royal  purple 
coats  thrown  half  back,  the  whole  cluster  of  them 
raised  on  a  leafless  stalk.    As  for  the  leaves,  they  are 

80 


very  long,   and   you   will   find    them   close   to   the        The 
ground.  Love  of 

The  Yellow  Violet  is  just  such  another  contriving  Life 
plant.  The  enemies  of  him  pull  him  up  by  the  roots, 
or  think  they  do,  not  knowing,  luckily,  that  the 
coral-like  strands  which  are  torn  from  the  ground 
are  not  roots  after  all  but  only  underground  stems. 
The  real  roots  lie  very  deeply  buried  and,  so,  the 
Yellow  Violet  goes  bravely  on  flowering  year  after 
year,  striving  to  bear  seedpods  that  its  family  may 
increase  in  the  land  of  open  woods. 

In  April,  King's  Cups  sprinkle  the  fields,  the  yel- 
low flowers  borne  in  such  nest-like  rosettes  of  leaves 
that  some  of  us  call  them  Golden  Eggs!  The 
spreading  petals  terminate  a  long  thread-like  tube 
that  runs  down  almost  into  the  ground  where  the 
seed-bearing  part  is  hidden  out  of  harm's  way.  What 
exquisite  care  is  this!  What  bolder  expression  of 
the  desire  to  live ! 

In  February  and  April,  Buttercups  color  the  pas- 
tured hills  for  leagues  and  leagues,  brilliant  in  the 
sun,  appearing  on  the  distant  slopes  as  if  painted  into 
the  very  texture  of  the  earth  itself.  Are  you  not 
ready  to  ask  why  grazing  animals  do  not  like  But- 
tercup leaves  and  buds  ?  The  Buttercup  knows  why ! 
Of  this  we  may  be  sure :  if  ever  grazing  animals  once 
found  the  Buttercup  palatable,  then  there  would 
never  be  a  second  generation  of  Buttercups. 

Some  time  we  shall  see  more  of  the  wonderful 
things  in  Nature  and  so  shall  the  wonder  grow  that 
we  shall  forget  our  primitive  instincts  and  delight  no 


The  more  in  the  hunter's  joy,  the  kill  for  the  sake  of  the 
Love  of  kill.  Some  time  there  will  be  here  in  Berkeley  a 
Life  wild-flower  protection  society,  just  as  in  older  States, 
and  those  who  have  wide  grounds  will  give  the  wild 
flowers  a  corner — all  their  own.  Some  time,  gentle 
reader,  the  call  will  come  down  from  the  mountain 
top  and  you  shall  come  up  from  the  valley  and  go  on 
a  little  journey  over  the  hills  on  a  rainy  April  day, 
the  high  grass  wet,  the  west  wind  blowing,  and  with 
new  perceptions  the  true  story  of  the  wild  flowers 
will  be  told  you  in  every  gesture  of  leaf  and  curve 
of  bud.  Doubtless  the  flowers  are  happiest  when  the 
sun  shines;  when  their  gay  colors  signal  the  passing 
bee  or  butterfly,  carriers  of  pollen,  the  transfer  of 
which,  as  you  know,  makes  better  seeds  and  seed- 
lings and  the  seedlings  better  and  larger  plants.  But 
in  stormy  weather,  when  the  rain  drops  are  falling 
and  you  can  hear  the  sound  of  water  running  in  the 
gulches,  some  of  the  most  curious  and  interesting 
features  of  their  lives  are  disclosed  to  even  the  least 
sympathetic  observer:  behold  the  eager  attitude  of 
their  leaves  stretched  out  for  light,  the  way  in  which 
they  keep  warm,  the  ingenious  manner  in  which  pro- 
tection is  secured  against  rain.  These  are  some  of 
many  things  that  will  excite  your  senses,  and  then 
your  responsive  nature  will  find  on  every  hand  the 
choice  inhabitants  of  the  hills  warm  with  emotions, 
on  every  side  you  will  see  the  efFort  for  self-preserva- 
tion, everywhere  the  expression  of  the  overmastering 
desire-the  love  of  life.  ^^^^^^  ^  j^^^^^^ 

82 


A  Berkeley  Bird  and 
Wild-Flower  Calendar 


H !  well  I  mind  the  calendar, 
Faithful  through  a  thousand  years, 
Of  the  painted  race  of  flowers, 
Exact  to  days,  exact  to  hours. 
Counted  on  the  spacious  dial 
Yon  broidered  zodiac  girds. 
I  know  the  trusty  almanac 
Of  the  punctual  coming-back, 
On  their  due  days,  of  the  birds. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson. 


Berkeley 
Bird  and 
mid- 
Flower 
Calendar 


I  DO  not  want  change:  I  want  the  same  old 
and  loved  things,  the  same  wild-flowers, 
the  same  trees  and  soft  ash-green;  the 
blackbirds,  the  coloured  ycllowhammer 
sing,  sing,  singing  so  long  as  there  is 
light  to  cast  a  shadow  on  the  dial,  for 
such  is  the  measure  of  his  song,  and  1 
want  them  in  the  same  place — let  me 
watch  the  same  succession  year  by  year. 

Proem:  The  Pageant  of  Summer. 

Richard  Jefferies. 


87 


STanuarp  Townsend's  Solitaire.     Very  rare. 
^ttbsl      Lutescent  Warbler.     Common  resident. 

Pine  Finch.     Occasional  in  flocks  during  winter. 

California  Woodpecker.     Common  at  times  in  win- 
ter. 

Western  Golden-crowned  Kinglet.     Fairly  common 
winter  resident. 

Ruby-crowned  Kinglet.    Abundant  during  the  win- 
ter months. 

Western   Robin.      Common    at   times   in    flocks   in 
winter. 

Western  Winter  Wren.    Rare  winter  visitant. 

Dwarf  Hermit  Thrush.     Common,  but  shy  winter 
resident. 

Western  Blue-bird.     Common  at  times  in  flocks. 


It's  little  I  can  tell 

About  the  birds  in  books; 

And  yet  I  know  them  well, 

By  their  music  and  their  looks. 

When  Spring  comes  down  the  lane, 

Her  airy  lovers  throng 

To  welcome  her  with  song, 

And  follow  in  her  train: 

Each  minstrel  weaves  his  part 

In  that  wild-flowery  strain. 

And  I  know  them  all  again 

By  their  echo  in  my  heart. 

Henry  van  Dyke. 


88 


Pussy  Willows.     Along  creek  banks.  STattuarp 

Blue  Hound's  Tongue.    Thickets  of  the  canons.         jflOttJCrSi 
Chickweed.    In  the  shade  of  walls  and  fences. 
Shepherd's  Purse.    Common  in  field  and  by  roadside. 
Flowering  Currant.    In  canons  and  along  streams. 


Thou  sendest  forth  Thy  Spirit;  they  are  created;  and  Thou 
renewest  the  face  of  the  earth. 

David  the  Psalmist. 


Pleased  Nature's  heart  is  always  young, 
Her  golden  harp  is  ever  strung; 
Singing  and  playing,  day  to  day. 
She  passes  happy  on  her  way. 


John  Vance  Cheney. 


jFcbruarp  Gambel's  White-crowned  Sparrow.     Very  abund- 
Jiirbi  ant  in  flocks. 

Golden-crowned  Sparrow.     Abundant  in  flocks. 
Samuel's  Song  Sparrow.     Very  common  resident. 
Oregon  Junco.     Common  in  flocks  during  winter. 
Townsend's  Sparrow.     Common,  but  solitary. 
Oregon  Towhee.     Common  resident  of  the  caiion. 
California  Brown  Towhee.     Very  abundant  every- 
where. 
American  Goldfinch.     Locally  distributed  in  flocks. 
Evening  Grosbeak.    Very  rare. 
Cedar  Bird.    Occasional  in  flocks. 


The  endJess,  sweet  reiterations  of  birds   mean   something 
wiser  than  we  dream  of  in  our  lower  life  here. 

Harriet  Beech  er  Stowe. 


Do  you  ne'er  think  what  wondrous  beings  these? 
Whose  household  words  are  songs  in  many  keys, 
Sweeter  than  instrument  of  man  e'er  caught! 
Whose  habitations  in  the  tree-tops  even 
Are  half-way  houses  on  the  road  to  heaven ! 

Henry  W.  Longfellow. 


90 


How  fitting  to  have  every  day  in  a  vase  of  water  on  your   Jf  CurUflrp 
table,  the  wild-flowers  of  the  season  which  are  just  blossoming,     jf  lottJtrH 

Henry  D.  Thoreau. 


Trillium.    In  heavily-shaded  canons. 
Wild  Cucumber.    Ivy-like;  over  stumps  and  shrubs. 
Indian  Paint-Brush.    Rocky  points  of  the  hills. 
Wood  Sorrel.    In  sunny,  sheltered  corners. 
Leather  Wood.     In  Strawberry  Canon. 
Indian  Lettuce.     Shade  of  oaks  and  laurels. 
Dandelion.      A    bright    apparition    of    field    and 
meadovir. 


Dear  common  flower,  that  grow'st  beside  the  way, 
My  childhood's  earliest  thoughts  are  linked  with  thee. 

To  the  Dandelion. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


Simple  and  fresh  and  fair  from  winter's  close  emerging. 
Forth  from  its  sunny  nook  of  shelter'd  grass — innocent, 

golden,  calm  as  the  dawTi, 
The  spring's  first  dandelion  shows  its  trustful  face. 

Walt  Whitman. 


91 


iHarcf)  Burrowing  Owl.  Found  in  the  hills.  Becoming 
H^irtl£(  scarce. 

Western  Screech  Owl.    Resident.    Common. 

Barn  Owl.  Formerly  common  about  town.  Now 
rare. 

Western  Great  Horned  Owl.  Occasional  in  the 
woods. 

Barn  Swallow.     Common. 

Cliff  Swallow.    Abundant. 

California  Partridge  (Valley  Quail).  Fairly  abund- 
ant. 

Pileolated  Warbler.    Solitary  as  a  rule. 

Brewer's  Blackbird.    Abundant  in  flocks. 


There  is  something  almost  pathetic  in  the  fact  that  the 
birds  remain  for  ever  the  same.  You  grow  old,  your  friends 
die,  events  sweep  on  and  all  things  are  changed.  Yet  there 
in  your  garden  or  orchard  are  the  birds  of  your  boyhood,  the 
same  notes,  the  same  calls. 

The  swallows,  that  built  so  far  out  of  your  reach  beneath 
the  eaves  of  your  father's  bam,  the  same  ones  now  chatter 
beneath  the  eaves  of  your  barn.  The  warblers  and  shy  wood- 
birds  you  pursued  with  such  glee  ever  so  many  moons  ago, 
no  marks  of  change  cling  to  them;  the  whistle  of  the  quail, 
the  strong,  piercing  note  of  the  meadow  lark — how  these 
sounds  ignore  the  years,  and  strike  on  the  ear  with  the  melody 
of  that  spring-time  when  the  world  was  young. 

A  Bird  Medley. 

John  Burroughs. 


92 


Then,  all  at  once,  the  land  laughed  into  bloom.  iftlfltCf) 

Alfred  Austin.  Jf lOtoEfSl 


Wild  Cyclamen  or  Shooting-Stars.  Common  on 
hillsides. 

Brodiaea.     Very  abundant  on  sunny  hillslopes. 

California  Lilac.    In  bosky  thickets. 

Fuchsia-flowered  Gooseberrj'.     Steep  canon-sides. 

Ferns.    Giving  beauty  and  grace  to  canons  and  hills. 

Sun  Cups  or  Golden  Eggs.    On  low  slopes. 

Bush  Lupine.    Abundant  on  canon-sides. 

Calendrinia.     Low  hillsides. 

Filaree.  Common  carpet  of  roadside,  pasture,  or- 
chard and  vacant  lot. 

Eschscholtzia  or  California  Poppy.  The  golden 
glory  of  field  and  wayside. 


Thy  satin  vesture  richer  is  than  looms 
Of  Orient  weave  for  raiment  of  her  kings. 
The  Eschscholtxia. 

Ina  Coolbrith. 


93 


^ptil  For,  lo,  the  winter  is  past,  the  rain  is  over  and  gone;  the 

iiitrblS      flowers  appear  on  the  earth ;  the  time  of  the  singing  of  birds 


Song  of  Solomon. 


Western  House  Wren.     Very  common. 
Plain-crested  Titmouse.     Very  common  among  the 

liveoaks. 
California   Bush   Tit    (Tomtit).     Abundant.     An 

early  nester. 
California  Purple  Finch.     Rather  rare. 
Black    Pewee    (Black-headed    Flycatcher).      Very 

common. 
Bullock's  Oriole.    Tolerably  common. 
Red-winged  Blackbird.     Locally  distributed. 
Green-backed  Goldfinch  (Wild  Canary).    With  us 

all  the  year  round. 
Rufous  Hummer.     A  radiant  visitor  from  Central 

America. 


And  here  the  wild  birds  sing, 
And  there  the  wild  flowers  blow; 
My  heart — 'tis  on  the  wing, 
I  know  not  where  'twill  go. 

John  Vance  Cheney. 


94 


Yellow  Pansy.     Among  the  scattered  oaks  on  Bos-      ^prtl 
well's  ranche,  and  at  Point  Isabel.  jFlototfi 

Blue-eyed  Grass  or  Nigger  Babies.    Thick  in  moist 
pastures. 

Nemophila.     In  Strawberry  Canon,  also  on  trail  to 
Wild  Cat  Canon  from  North  Berkeley. 

Wild  Oats.    At  home  from  hilltop  to  the  bay  shore. 

Pepper  Grass.     Moist  waysides. 

Yellow  Mustard.    Luxuriant  on  plain  and  meadow. 

Buttercups.     Abundant  everywhere. 


The  flowering  of  the  buttercups  is  always  a  great,  and  I 
may  truly  say,  a  religious  event  in  any  year. 
The  Buttercup. 

James  Russell  Lowell. 


Oh,  for  the  time 

Of  the  mustard's  prime; 

For  the  shifting  haze 

Of  its  yellow  maze; 
For  the  airy  toss 
Of  its  yellow  gloss; 

For  the  amber  lights 

Along  the  heights 
Of  the  verdurous  April  ways. 

Anna  Catherine  Markham. 


95 


jHap     Western   Flycatcher.     Common,   nesting   in   mossy 
^ttbS(  banks. 

Warbling  Vireo.     Common  summer  resident. 

Summer  Warbler.     Less  common  of  late. 

Rufous  crowned  Sparrow.     Fairly  common  in  the 

hills. 
Western  Savannah  Sparrow.     In  open  fields. 
Lazuli  Bunting.     Common  summer  resident. 
Western  Lark  Finch.     Common  summer  resident. 
Russet-backed    Thrush.      Abundant.      A    peerless 

songster. 


All  the  notes  of  the  forest-throng, 
Flute,  reed  and  string  are  in  his  song; 
Never  a  fear  knows  he,  nor  wrong, 
Nor  a  doubt  of  anything. 
The  Thrush. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


That's  the  wise  thrush;  he  sings  each  song  twice  over 
Lest  you  should  think  he  never  could  recapture 
The  first,  fine,  careless  rapture. 

Robert  Browning. 


96 


The  voice  of  one  who  goes  before  to  make  JWflP 

The  paths  of  June  more  beautiful,  is  thine,  Jf lOtDtfSi 

Sweet  May. 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 


Cream  Cups.  Moist  hillside  fields  above  North 
Berkeley  towards  Grizzly  Peak  and  Wild 
Cat  Canon. 

Fritillaria.     Rich  mould  of  wooded  canons. 

Columbine.  In  secluded  glens,  especially  in  Sir  Dag- 
onet's  Glen  back  of  Institute,  and  in  Woolsey 
Canon. 

Tidy  Tips,  or  Yellow  Daisies.  Brightening  meadow 
and  plain. 

Calochortus.  At  Boswell's,  undisturbed  by  cultiva- 
tion. 


Fancy  the  waving,  pulsing  melody  of  the  vast  flower  con- 
gregations flowing  from  myriad  voices  of  tuned  petal  and 
pistil  and  heaps  of  sculptured  pollen. 

John  Muir. 


97 


STune       Road  Runner.     Rather  rare  among  the  hills. 
^trdsi       Rock  Wren.     Not  uncommon  in  the  hills. 

Ashy-throated  Kingbird.    Rather  rare. 

Lawrence's  Goldfinch.     Rare. 

Black-headed  Grosbeak.    Common  summer  resident. 

Samuel's  Song  Sparrow.    Very  common  resident. 

Wren  Tit.    A  faithful  singer. 

Anna's   Hummer    (Humming   Bird).     Very  com- 
mon resident. 

Allen's  Hummer.     Not  uncommon  in  summer. 


The  least  of  birds,  a  jewelled  sprite, 
With  burnished  throat  and  needle  bill, 
Wags  his  head  in  the  golden  light, 
Till  it  flashes,  and  dulls,  and  flashes  bright, 
Cheeping  his  microscopic  song. 
Field  Notes. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


98 


Heart  of  the  Summer  is  Heart  of  the  Year.  ^I^UItC 

Mrs.  a.  D.  T.  Whitney.  jflotDtrSi 


Clarkia.     Sunny  hillsides.     Road  to  Fish  Ranche. 
Blue  Gilia.     Makes  patches  of  color  in  the  fields. 
Sunflower.     On  open  plains  and  hillsides. 
Evening  Primrose,     Exposed  places  and  by  roadside. 
Indian  Pink.     Illumines  roadside    and    borders    of 

thickets. 
Collinsia.     In  shade  of  oaks  and  other  trees. 
Owl's  Clover.     West  Berkeley  fields. 
Wild  Rose.     Widely  distributed.     Blossoms  inde- 

fatlgably  early  and  late. 


As  slight  a  thing  as  a  rose  may  be 

A  stepping  stone 
Whereby  some  soul  may  step  from  earth 
To  love's  high  throne. 
A  Rose. 

Clarence  Urmy. 


So  sweet,  so  sweet  the  roses  in  their  blowing, 
So  sweet  the  lilies  are,  so  fair  to  see: 
So  blithe  and  gay  the  humming  bird  a-going 
From  flower  to  flower,  a-hunting  with  the  bee. 

Norah  Perry. 


99 


STulp     Western  Wood  Pewee.     Common  in  the  woods. 
^ixtiS    Russet-backed  Thrush.     Nesting. 

Bullock's  Oriole.     In  song. 

Black-headed  Grosbeak.     Singing. 

Green-backed  Goldfinch.    Abundant. 

Barn  Swallow.     Nesting  under  the  eaves  of  bams. 

Cliff  Swallow.     Nesting. 

House  Finch  (Linnet).    Very  abundant  resident. 


The  Power  that  built  the  starry  dome  on  high, 
And  poised  th'  inverted  rafters  of  the  sky, 
Teaches  the  linnet  with  unconscious  breast 
To  round  the  inverted  heaven  of  her  nest. 

Anonymous. 


The  shadow  of  a  bird 

On  the  shadow  of  a  bough, 

Sweet  and  clear  his  song  is  heard; 

"Seek  me  now,  I  seek  thee  now." 

The  bird  swings  out  of  reach  in  the  swaying  tree. 

But  his  shadow  on  the  garden  walk  below  belongs  to  me. 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


Through  the  open  door  jT Wl|> 

A  drowsy  smell  of  flowers — gray  heliotrope,  Jf  lotOCtSf 

And  sweet  white  clover,  and  shy  mignonette — 
Comes  faintly  in,  and  silent  chorus  lends 
To  the  pervading  symphony  of  peace. 

John  G.  Whittier. 


There  are  crowds  who  trample  a  flower  into  the  dust, 
without  once  thinking  that  they  have  one  of  the  sweetest 
thoughts  of  God  under  their  feet. 

J.  G.  Holland. 


Flowers  themself,  whate'er  their  hue. 
With  all  their  fragrance,  all  their  glistening. 
Call  to  the  heart  for  inward  listening. 

William  Wordsworth. 


Tarweed.     Exasperatingly  abundant  in  the  eyes  of 

cross-country  walkers. 
Yerba  Buena.    Fringing  Strawberry  Creek. 
Common   Monkey  Flower.     Low  moist  places  in 

ditches  and  streambeds. 
Godetia.     Hillsides,  especially  toward  Claremont. 
Wild    Honeysuckle.      Climbing    into    trees    along 

Strawberry  Creek. 


^UgUSft         Western  Chipping  Sparrow.    Still  occasionally  trill- 
^ixha  ing  its  spring  song. 

Western  Lark  Finch.     In  flocks  among  the  fields. 
Lazuli  Bunting.     A  beautiful  fleck  of  blue  in  the 

thickets. 
Plain-crested  Titmouse.     The  Quaker  of  the  oak 

groves. 
California  Jay.     Abundant  and  noisy. 
California  Bush  Tit.     Busy  little  bands  among  the 

live  oaks. 
Red-shafted  Flicker.    Always  in  evidence  among  the 

hills. 
Western  Screech  Owl.    Its  sweet  call  heard  at  night. 


James  Russell  Lowell,  whose  wont  it  is  to  see  and  hear  the 
thing  commonly  overlooked,  regards  the  cry  of  this  owl, 
(The  Screech  Owl,)  as  one  of  the  sweetest  sounds  in  Nature. 
fTooci  Notes  Wild. 

Simon  Pease  Cheney. 


The  last  hour  of  light  touches  the  birds  as  it  touches  us. 
When  they  sing  in  the  morning,  it  is  with  the  happiness  of 
the  earth;  but  as  the  shadows  fall  strangely  about  them,  and 
the  helplessness  of  the  night  comes  on,  their  voices  seem  to 
be  lifted  up  like  the  loftiest  poetry  of  the  human  spirit,  with 
sympathy  for  realities  and  mysteries  past  all  understanding. 

A  Kentucky  Cardinal. 

James  Lane  Allen. 


Zauschneria.     Hillsides,  mostly  in  rocky  places. 

Clematis.    Climbing  over  shrubs  on  the  canon-walls. 

Twin-Berry.     Tenant  of  stream-banks  and  bottoms. 

Pimpernel  or  Poor  Man's  Weather-Glass.  Waste 
places. 

Ripening  Grasses,  whispering  the  brown  earth's  se- 
crets. 

Succory.    On  low  fields  stretching  to  the  bay. 


JflofcDcrji 


Consider  what  we  owe  to  the  meadow-grasses;  with  their 
feathery  or  downy  seed-vessels,  mingling  quaint  brown  punct- 
uation with  the  bloom  of  the  nearer  fields;  and  casting  a 
gossamered  grayness  and  softness  of  plumy  mist  along  their 
surfaces  far  away. 

John  Ruskin. 


In  the  fields  the  tall-stemmed  blue  succory  lights  one  or 
two  blossoms  in  its  chandelier;  it  is  thrifty,  and  means  to 
have  its  lamps  last,  not  burn  out  all  at  once. 

The  Seasons. 

Oliver  Wendell  Holmes. 


103 


September  Red-breasted  Nuthatch.  An  autumn  and  winter 
JiirtlSl  visitor. 

Gairdners's  Woodpecker.  Occasionally  found  dur- 
ing autumn  and  winter. 

House  Finch.     Old  and  young  in  flocks. 

Blue-fronted  Jay.    Occasional  visitor. 

Pileolated  Warbler.  A  beautiful  visitant  during 
autumn  and  winter. 

Lutescent  Warbler.    Singing  in  the  canons. 

Green-backed  Goldfinch.  In  flocks  among  the  tar- 
weed. 

Meadow  Lark.     Revives  its  sweet  spring  song. 


Oh,  for  the  tryst 

Of  the  lark  in  the  mist; 

For  the  fleeting  flash 

Of  his  breast's  gold  plash: 
For  the  thin  fused  gold 
Of  his  song  retold, 

Like  a  flute's  uplift 

Through  the  silent  rift 
Of  an  orchestra's  dying  clash. 

Anna  Catherine  Markham. 

Song  of  the  Meadow  Lark. 


From  Wood  Notes  H^ild, 

(By  permission  of  Lee  and  Shepard.) 


104 


Asters  and   Golden   Rod.     Corners   of   fields,   dry  ^tpttmbtt 
stream-banks  and  hillsides.  Jf  lOtDEtS! 

Mallows.     Vacant  lots. 
Thimble  Berry.     Everywhere  in  the  canons. 
Yellow  Sweet  Clover.    Streets  and  waste  places. 
Wild  Radish.     Everywhere  in  waste  places. 
Belated  Wild  Roses  and  Poppies. 


O  sweet  wild  rose !     O  strong  south  wind ! 
The  sunny  roadside  asks  no  reasons 
Why  we  such  secret  summer  find, 
Forgetting  calendars  and  seasons. 

A  Wild  Rose  in  September. 

Helen  Hunt. 


I  know  the  lands  are  lit 
With  all  the  autumn  blaze  of  Golden  Rod; 
And  everywhere  the  Purple  Asters  nod 
And  bend  and  wave  and  flit. 

Helen  Hunt  Jackson. 


105 


([October    Arctic  Blue-bird.     Occasional  in  flocks  during  au- 
^ivhi  tumn  and  winter. 

Western  Golden-crowned  Kinglet.     A  lovely  waif 

from  the  north-land. 
Ruby-crowned  Kinglet. 
Townsend's  Sparrow. 
Dwarf  Hermit  Thrush. 

Oregon  Junco.    A  sprightly  little  winter  visitor. 
Tule  Wren.    Common  in  marshes  on  the  bay  shore. 
Maryland  Yellowthroat.     Common  in  marshes. 
Streaked  Horned  Lark.    In  open  fields  near  the  bay. 


These  are  the  days  when  birds  come  back, 
A  very  few,  a  bird  or  two. 
To  take  a  backward  look. 

Emily  Dickinson. 


A  host  of  poppies,  a  flight  of  swallows; 
A  fliurry  of  rain,  and  a  wind  that  follows 
Shepherds  the  leaves  in  the  sheltered  hollows, 
For  the  forest  is  shaken  and  thinned. 

Edwin  Markham. 


1 06 


These  are  the  days  when  skies  put  on  (&CtOotT 

The  old,  old  sophistries  of  June,—  Jf lOtDCfSJ 

A  blue  and  gold  mistake. 

Till  ranks  of  seeds  their  witness  bear, 

And  softly  through  the  altered  air 

Hurries  a  timid  leaf! 

Emily  Dickinson. 


Sand-Verbena.     West  Berkeley. 

Blue  Curls.     Dry  fields. 

Wax  Berry.     Near   Summit  reservoir,  and   North 

Berkeley  stone-quarry. 
Rose-hips  and  Blackberry  vines.    Color-bearers  along 

the  sides  of  the  creeks. 


These  few  dear  autumn  flowers ! 
More  beautiful  they  are 
Than  all  that  went  before, 
Because  they  are  the  last 
Of  all  the  Summer's  store. 

Anonymous. 


107 


.^bember   American  Pipit.    Abundant  in  flocks  in  open  fields. 
|@ttbsl      Oregon  Junco  (Snow  Bird). 

Lincoln's  Finch.     Fairlj^  common  in  winter. 
Say's  Pewee.     Moderatelj^  common  winter  resident. 
Red-breasted  Sapsucker.  Rather  rare  winter  visitant. 
Harris's  Woodpecker.     Fairly  common  in  winter. 
Varied  Robin.    A  shy,  solitary,  but  common  winter 
visitant. 


In  the  sculptured  woodland's  leafless  isles. 
The  robin  chants  the  vespers  of  the  year. 

Alfred  Austin. 


All  great  forms,  inanimate  or  alive,  in  time,  in  space,  or 
in  mind,  are  His  shadows:  all  voices  language,  music,  the 
inspired  word,  the  sounds  and  breathings  of  nature  are  His 
echoes. 

MOZOOMDAR. 


io8 


Shrubby  Monkey-Flower.    Steep  south  hillsides.  iBtObember 

Solanum  or  Nightshade.    Strawberry  Canon.  Jflotoers! 

Coffee  Berry.     Canons,  and  borders  of  thickets  in 
the  higher  hills. 


There  is  no  glory  in  star  or  blossom 
Till  looked  upon  by  a  loving  eye. 

William  Cullen  Bryant. 


There's  beauty  waiting  to  be  born, 
And  harmony  that  makes  no  sound. 


Mrs.  a.  D.  T.  Whitney. 


Winged  clouds  soar  here  and  there 

Dark  with  the  rain  new  buds  are  dreaming  of. 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley. 


109 


^tCtmhtr  Lewis's  Woodpecker.    An  occasional  winter  visitant. 
I^trbsf      Hutton's  Vireo.    Fairly  common  during  the  winter. 
Oregon  Towhee  (Catbird). 

Audubon's  Warbler.    A  common  winter  resident. 
Townsend's  Sparrow.     Solitary,  scratching  among 

the  leaves. 
Gambel's  White-crowned  Sparrow.    One  of  the  few 

birds  that  sing  during  the  winter. 
Golden-crowned  Sparrow.     In  song. 
Samuel's  Song  Sparrow.     Sings  at  times  during  the 

winter. 


The  sparrows  are  all  meek  and  lowly  birds.  They  are  of 
the  grass,  the  fences,  the  low  bushes,  the  weedy  wayside 
places.  Nature  has  denied  them  all  brilliant  tints,  but  she 
has  given  them  sweet  and  musical  voices.  Theirs  are  the 
quaint  and  simple  lullaby  songs  of  childhood. 

John  Burroughs. 


Gently  and  clear  the  sparrow  sings 
While  twilight  steals  across  the  sea. 
And  still  and  bright  the  evening  star 
Twinkles  above  the  golden  bar 
That  in  the  west  lies  quietly. 

Celia  Thaxter. 


no 


If  Winter  comes,  can  Spring  be  far  behind?  ^tCttvAtV 

Percy  Bysshe  Shelley.  jFlotDetfl! 


Toyon  or  California  Holly.    University  grounds  and 

Canon. 
Mistletoe.     Wild  Cat  Creek. 
Laurel.     Along  Strawberry  Creek,  and  climbs  in 

dwarf  form  to  top  of  Grizzly. 


Can  this  be  Christmas — sweet  as  May, 
With  drowsy  sun  and  dreamy  air. 
And  new  grass  pointing  out  the  way 
For  flowers  to  follow  everywhere? 

Edward  Rowland  Sill. 


Before  beginning,  and  without  an  end. 

As  space  eternal  and  as  surety  sure, 

Is  fixed  a  power  divine  which  moves  to  good; 

In  dark  soil  and  the  silence  of  the  seeds 

The  robe  of  Spring  it  weaves. 

T/ie  Light  of  Asia. 

Edwin  Arnold. 


OD  wills  that,  in  a  ring, 
His  blessings  shall  be  sent 
From  living  thing  to  thing, 
And  nowhere  stayed  nor  spent. 

John  W.  Chadwick. 


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